


A Matter of the Heart

by mamishka



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Best Friends, Broken Hearts, Castles, Childhood Friends, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Curses, Deception, Demons, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Fire Magic, Friendship, Heartless - Freeform, Hidden Talents, Ice, Ice Powers, Intrigue, M/M, Mages, Magic, Missing Persons, Murder, Power of Friendship, Royalty, Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrifice, Spells & Enchantments, Tailoring, Transformation, Treason, War, Witch Curses, Witches, Wizards, bring to life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamishka/pseuds/mamishka
Summary: When an unexpected encounter with a mysterious wizard dramatically changes Yuuri Katsuki's life, he finds that he must leave his family and career and journey to the Wastes of Ingary in search of a wizard who can help Yuuri break the curse that has been placed upon him. What he doesn't expect is to find himself working for the infamous Wizard Nikiforov, who is rumored to roam the country in his magical moving castle, seducing and then devouring the hearts of his lovers. And if that wasn't worrisome enough, Yuuri finds himself in a race against time to break a curse that isn't even his own!  (Yuri on Ice/Howl's Moving Castle crossover)





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> All of the characters in this story are written to match their personalities in Yuri!!! on Ice, save where circumstances require them to change along with the story. The plot follows along similar lines of the movie with some parallels to the book, but much of the story has been reworked and changed, especially in regards to Howl/Viktor's history and character.
> 
> You don't need to have seen/read either Yuri on Ice or Howl's Moving Castle to read and understand this fic. Obviously, if you're familiar with one or both sources, the story will be more engaging. But it stands on its own as as a curious fantasy fairytale and can be read apart from the series/book/movie. :-)

He sits, huddled into himself, knees raised and held tightly against his chest. His thin arms band around himself as it if they are the only thing holding him together. His tears have long since dried, but he can still feel the crust of their salt upon his cheeks. His eyes stare at the snow falling down outside the window across from him, the soft adult murmurs of condolences and regrets filtering past his ears. Their words aren’t meant for him. He knows this. He’s a problem now, an inconvenience. No one wants him. Not any more. 

So they pretend like he isn’t even there and he makes it easy for them to do so. He does nothing to draw attention to himself - no hysterical crying, no angry tantrums, he doesn’t so much as open his mouth. Every so often a soft hand touches his shoulder, a gentle squeeze given, but no one lingers. No one hugs him. No one cradles him close. No one runs their hands through his soft blond hair while singing songs in the most beautiful voice he has ever heard. 

She had the voice of angel. At least, that’s what his father always said, what he always called her. His angel. And Viktor, he was  _ her _ angel. 

Is he anything to anyone now? He doesn’t know.

He blinks and frowns as his view is obscured by something large and solid. His eyes re-adjust to the change of perspective, focusing on dark woolen fibers, greys upon greys, some nearly black and others more blue. The buttons are large and shiny, highly polished and winking in the light. 

“Viktor.”

The voice is low and raspy - gruff like a tough dog. Unlike the rest of the voices around him it sounds real. Grounded. He lifts his eyes upward to stare into the impassive face of a man he doesn’t recognize. He looks weathered, older than his likely age. He wears a black hat upon his head and the hair beneath it is is dark and shot through with steely grey. If Viktor wasn’t so far away from himself, he might be intimidated by the stranger. He’s large in build, towering over Viktor, and while his eyes are not cruel, they certainly aren’t kind. What is curious, however, is the fact that this man is currently staring down at Viktor intently, thoughtfully. He doesn’t awkwardly avert his eyes or look at him with pity. He doesn’t sniff with disdain or stare at him uncomfortably. His gaze is steady and solid. It’s both reassuring and refreshing. It’s the first time he feels that someone is looking at him like an actual person rather than something to be pitied or cast aside.

The man crouches down in front of him, dark grey eyes steadily gazing into his own before he speaks again in a voice that sounds like gravel being crunched into a dirt road by a heavy cart.

“How old are you, boy?”

Viktor blinks, processing the question for a moment before mumbling, “Seven.”

The man replies with a grunt, neither positive or negative; merely taking in the information, nothing more. He clears his throat. It sounds like the cough of a horse. “We’ve never met before now, but I am your father’s brother– your uncle.”

The words have no impact. Viktor’s face feels like it’s made of stone. He can’t remember the last time he felt anything since he learned of his parent’s death. It’s like he’s been hollowed out; nothing more than an empty container with nothing to fill it. 

“I’ve come to ask you a question. If you are interested, I have a place for you. I can take you away from here. You can come home with me. I’ll take care of you, make sure you get an education, and train you so you can reach your full potential.”

All of these words are new to him. No one else has offered to take him in, let alone do anything more for him. He heard the word ‘orphanage’ more than a few times in the past week. Still, the words do nothing for him. There is no new found sense of hope or excitement. Perhaps that will come later? Only one question rises to the forefront of his mind.

“My p-potential?” The word unfamiliar to him, his lips stumbling over the syllables.

The man before him, his uncle, confirms this with a grunt. “Da. You have great untapped potential, Viktor. It runs in the family and it shouldn’t go to waste. It will give you purpose. It will make you whole again.” A massive paw of a hand lifts and hangs in the air between them.

“Would you like that? Would you like to live with me?”

Viktor considers the man before him. It’s not like he has any other options, but there’s something about those words, no, that specific word - potential - that causes a small spark of something to flutter within his chest. It won’t be the same, it can never be the same. But maybe it can be  _ something _ . After all, something is better than nothing, no? He slips his tiny hand into the callused one before him, the older man’s palm dwarfing the whole of Viktor’s.

“Yes, I would. I would like to live with you, Uncle…?” How strange - Viktor has already agreed to live with this man and he doesn’t even know his name.

The hand closes around his own, swallowing it completely in its warm and surprisingly gentle grip. “Yakov. Uncle Yakov. But you can just call me Yakov.”

  
  


**********

 

Yawning, Viktor opens his eyes and looks about the compartment he is sitting in. When he and his uncle had first boarded the train, it was packed. But now they have the whole car to themselves. He glances up uncertainly at his new guardian, but his uncle is clearly engrossed in the newspaper that he is reading. Still uncertain of his welcome, and even less certain of the man who appeared out of nowhere to take him in, Viktor glances away, turning his attention to the view outside.

Pressing his nose against the window of the train, he peers out at the ever-changing landscape flashing past him. He is fascinated by the pattern of the trees, the closer ones whipping by while the ones deeper in the forest, slide past his eyes in slow-motion and still flashes. It was dark when they left his hometown, but it’s clearly morning now and Viktor can feel his stomach complaining. Dinner was a long time ago. They’ve been traveling all night.

It took some time to pack up his things, make arrangements, and all the while Yakov had been distracted, his features fixed in what seemed to be a permanent scowl. Viktor didn’t dare ask him any questions. He followed orders and only spoke when asked a question. He didn’t even dare ask for food when he got hungry. He was grateful when his uncle finally sat them both down for a meal, the two of them eating in silence while waiting for their train. 

But he can’t stay silent forever, no matter how much the man sitting next to him intimidates him. He has questions. So many questions. Viktor takes a deep breath and sits up straighter, forcing his eyes to fix upon his guardian intently, though his voice shakes a little when he finally manages to speak.

“Uncle Yakov?”

The man rumbles like a bear, his gaze still intent upon the paper before him. “I told you before, Viktor, you can just call me Yakov.”

Using an adult’s first name is strange and difficult, but Viktor manages it. “Yakov? Where are we?” Throughout the entire journey, Viktor hasn’t recognized much of anything, but then again, he has never been outside of his hometown before.

His uncle turns his head to look outside before grunting. “Epping Forest, at the moment.” He pauses for a moment before countering, “But that isn’t the question you meant to ask, was it?”

Viktor shrinks into himself a little. “No sir.”

“Not sir. Yakov, Viktor. Vakov.” 

It’s the only humanizing thing about the man. No title, just his name. Viktor can’t quite reconcile having the right to use it with such an imposing figure. But he takes another breath and straightens his shoulders once more. He ponders what his uncle meant and then asks instead, “Where are we going Unc... Yakov?”

“Hogweed.”

The answer means nothing to Viktor, but he can’t quite bring himself to ask for clarification. The man’s brusque nature makes Viktor feel like every question he asks is an unwelcome interruption. He should have asked the question differently. He doesn’t want to know where they are going, he wants to know what he will find when they get there.

The paper rustles as Yakov turns to the next page. “You need to learn to ask the right questions, Viktor.” 

Neither the words nor his tone are cruel, but Viktor still feels his shoulders hunching inward under the weight of his mistake.

His uncle either takes pity on him or simply chooses to indulge the boy. “It’s a small town, not too far from the capital of Ingary. It’s where I live and, now, it is where you live.” He turns to look at Viktor with those stone grey eyes. “It’s a three day journey from Tartin, so we’re going to be traveling for quite a bit longer.”

Three days. Three days is a long time. It’s very unlikely that Viktor will be able to visit his home town and he turns his gaze toward the window once again to hide the tears he can feel burgeoning along the rim of his lashes. He didn’t get to say goodbye to his parents before they died. He didn’t get to say goodbye to his friends before he left. And now, he’ll never see any of them again. He blinks and three hot tears trail down his cheeks. He resists the urge to scrub them away, to give his uncle any hint that they are there. He needs to be strong now. He can’t risk offending this man. He might be young, but he’s not such a child that he doesn’t understand that Yakov is his last chance. His only chance.

“Why?”

“Why, what, Viktor? You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Why did you come for me? Why did you take me?” His small hands clench into fists as he stares down into his lap. “I know the truth. Nobody wanted me. They thought that I’m too young to understand, but I understood just fine. They whispered behind closed doors and used big words, but their eyes and voices told me the truth.” He turns, wiping his face with his sleeve, before looking up at his uncle. “They didn’t want me. Why do you?”

Yakov stares at Viktor with an uncomfortable expression, his eyes lifting to stare at the opposite wall of the carriage as he clears his throat. He folds the paper in his hands and tucks it under his arm. He doesn’t look at Viktor, but he does answer his question. 

“Your father and I… let’s just say that we never got along. After your birth I told him what you are, I told him about your potential, but he told me that he wanted you to have a normal life. That he didn’t want you to become like me. We fought about it and he told me to leave, that I was not welcome in their life, in your life, that he never wanted to see me again.”

Viktor stares at his uncle, astonished. His father said that? His father was the kindest man he had ever known - gentle and loving with Viktor and his mother, gracious, polite, and friendly with everyone they knew and met. How dare this man say otherwise! Pride and anger flood through him, drowning caution and fear. Scowling, he retorts with the only answer he can. 

“You’re lying!”

Yakov turns to Viktor, a mirthless smile cracking his face in a way that looks wholly unnatural. “Hah. Not only do you look like your father, but you take after him too it seems.”

Viktor can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a criticism, which causes him to frown harder. But the fire that has been lit inside him is burning steadily now, and there’s still a question that his uncle’s words have presented him with. One that has not been answered yet. 

“Alright, prove it. What am I then? What are you?”

“You’re a wizard, Viktor. You can do magic, just as I can.”

A wizard? Viktor can’t help it as he barks out again, “You’re lying!”

Yakov’s expression darkens, his thick eyebrows folding down, narrowing his grey gaze. Viktor shrinks into himself as somehow the already imposing figure seems to grow even larger, towering over him. Closing his eyes, Viktor braces for he doesn’t know what. Will his uncle yell at him? Hit him? All he knows is that he has pushed this man too far and now he will have to face the consequences.

What he doesn’t expect is the explosion of laughter to escape his guardian. The sound of it is rough and barking, rusty from disuse. Cracking open one eye, Viktor witnesses his uncle slapping a hand on his thigh and shaking his head.

“Well, we’re off to a fine start. I’m certain I can’t convince you of your father’s actions, but I  _ can _ convince you that I’m a wizard and, with time, show you that you are too.”

One massive paw of a hand hovers in the air between them and with a soft murmur in a language that Viktor has never heard before, there is a flash of light and then, growing out of his uncle’s palm is a bright blue flame, flickering and bouncing. Viktor gasps in fear, glancing up at his uncle who smiles at him crookedly, showing no sign of pain whatsoever. Turning his eyes back to the fire dancing merrily before him he can see that it isn’t burning the hand holding it, even though he can feel the heat of it against his face as he leans closer.

“Go on, you can touch it if you like.”

Viktor’s hand lifts, fingers tentatively reaching toward the flame. He glances up into his uncle’s face, looking for some sign that this is a trick, before he extends his hand forward. His fingers are enveloped in the bright blue flame and immediately he jerks them back to stare at them.

Nothing. No marks or burns. 

He slips his hand into the fire again, turning it back and forth as the flame licks at his fingers. He can feel that it’s hot, but the heat doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t burn. Viktor doesn’t think he’s ever been this excited or amazed in his entire life. In an instant, all of his anger and disbelief melts away. “You can do magic! What else can you do? Can I really do that too? Will you teach me?”

With an indulgent huff, Yakov closes his hand, the flame doused by the simple action. “Yes, Viktor, with training you can do that too, and many more things as well. And I will teach you. But you have to learn to trust me in order to learn from me. However, I promise you that if you listen, work hard, and practice, you will become a very powerful wizard.” The rough and calloused hand comes to lie atop Viktor’s.

“You may someday be even more powerful than me.”

Viktor can’t see it, but he can feel the astonished and happy grin that he gives his uncle. He can’t wait until they get to Hogweed. He can’t wait until he starts learning how to use magic. He leans forward eagerly now, watching his uncle show him tiny acts of magic, each one causing Viktor’s heart to swell with excitement. With hope.  
  


 

**********

 

The days and nights pass slowly. With little to do during their long travel, Viktor finds himself either sleeping, eating, staring at the scenery, or exploring the train. Yakov doesn’t care to talk very much, but he does take the time to show him a few simple magical spells to practice. It gives him something to do and helps pass the time, but it also frustrates him as he struggles to ‘feel’ his magic, as his uncle instructs him to. It’s like trying to grab hold of smoke before it dissipates into thin air. 

More often than he would like, Viktor finds himself a small place to curl up and cry as he looks at the photograph of his parents that he brought with him. He doesn’t want Yakov to know, uncertain how the gruff man would react. Would he be understanding, or would he think Viktor was being weak? He always makes sure to splash his face with cold water and dry it before returning to his uncle, just to be safe.

Lying on his back, Viktor holds his hands in the air above him, concentrating on the curved space between them, trying to draw his magic to him with a frown. He doesn’t even notice as his hands drift closer and closer to his body before they end up splayed over his chest, lax with sleep. 

“Viktor. Wake up. It’s time to go.” 

Viktor startles from dozing as his uncle shakes his shoulder. Sitting up, he yawns and stretches, rubbing his eyes and peering out of the window blearily. The train is slowing down and the countryside has given way to houses and parks, shops and carriages. All traces of sleep slip away and he feels his heart pounding in his chest, though he’s not certain if it’s due to fear or excitement. Perhaps both.

“Where are we?”

“Home. Come on, get your bag.”

Viktor gathers up his meager belongings and follows after his uncle, his eyes flickering about the fancy train station. A massive ceiling of glass covers the space, trains of all different colors huffing and puffing with steam, the smell of oil, grease, coal, and fire permeating the air. Viktor jolts in surprise as a large hand lands on his shoulder, gripping it firmly and pulling him back from the red steam engine that caught his eye.

“Don’t wander, Viktor. It’s a big station and a big city. Stay close by my side and don’t get lost.”

The words are gruff in their warning, causing Viktor to snap to attention and all but glue himself to his uncle’s side. He doesn’t know which thought frightens him more - getting lost or being left behind. He’s determined not to let either happen.

They make their way to the main street which is bustling with people and carriages, merchants calling out to passersby, trying to get them to buy their wares. Viktor’s eyes are huge as he surreptitiously glances about, careful not to lose track of Yakov, but taking in as much as humanly possible while he can.

Yakov raises a hand and lets out a shrill whistle and mere moments later a hansom cab pulls up. Viktor stares at the massive horse drawing the carriage while Yakov speaks to the driver and puts their bags inside. Raising a tentative hand, Viktor places a hand upon the dark chestnut hide, but jerks it away as if burnt when the horse turns his head to look at him and snorts loudly.

“Come, Viktor!”

Chastened, he clambers into the hansom and sits still, hands in his lap, watching as the shops and houses pass by, listening to the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves upon the cobblestone road. The journey isn’t very long and before he knows it the cab has stopped before a blue house with white trim. When his uncle exits the carriage, he doesn’t wait to be told, but immediately follows after him, pulling their bags from the back, even though his uncle’s is almost more than he can manage himself.

“Well, here we are. Come along.”

Viktor scrambles after him, climbing a flight of stairs that lead to a porch, waiting while his uncle opens the door.

“Lilia! We’re back!” It’s not a greeting - more an announcement.

Viktor pauses, glancing up at his uncle in confusion. Lilia? Who is Lilia? He hears the clickclack of high heel shoes coming from the back of the house and peers around Yakov curiously. His gaze rises to the woman striding toward them and his thoat helplessly bobs in a nervous swallow at the sight of her.

Without a doubt, this is the most terrifying woman in the whole world. Where his uncle is large and broad, the woman before them is tall and angular, an unnatural sort of thinness pervading her entire form. Her long purple gown is tailored in slim lines, a black belt cinching in her impossibly narrow waist. Her arms are folded over her chest, her gaze cold and unforgiving. Her face is all sharp edges, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. But most terrifying is the way she’s looking at him, her regard fierce and calculating.  She stares down the length of her nose at him, clearly unimpressed. Viktor feels like her eyes have not only stripped him naked, but also have found him wanting in every possible category and a few more that are not possible.

Viktor’s gaze flickers up to his uncle uncertainty and he barely manages to resist the urge to flee and hide behind one of the thick legs of the man. They’re like tree trunks and he’s sure if he were behind one of them he would be much safer than he is standing out in the open like this.

“Viktor, I would like you to meet my wife, Lilia Baranovskya. As of today, she is going to be schooling you in the art of magic.”

His eyes widen, his gaze shifting back and forth before he looks up at his uncle disbelievingly. “So this is my Aunt…. Lilia? But I thought you were going to be teaching me?”

“I will be teaching you, but I have other responsibilities, so Lilia will be your primary instructor. She is your aunt, but you will address her as Madame Baranovskya, is that clear?”

“Yes sir- ah, uncle, I mean… Yakov.”

Like a rabbit before a snake, Viktor finds he cannot look away from those contemptuous green eyes. Thankfully, she is the first to look away, releasing him from her hypnotic stare. 

“He doesn’t look like much. I will not waste my time training some middling wizard, no matter if he is your family.”

Yakov grunts, folding his arms over his chest confidently, looking quite sure that Lilia will soon be eating her words. “I would not ask you to do so if I wasn’t sure he would be the best you’ve ever trained.”

Lilia scoffs, but her eyes narrow upon Viktor, her hands clapping abruptly. “Stand straight! Shoulders back! Posture is everything! Your body molds and acts as a conduit for your magic! If you can’t maintain a proper posture, you might as well throw away what little talent for the art that you have!”

Jerking himself upright, Viktor tries to do what she asks, his chin jutting forward, his shoulders arching back, straightening.

“Step forward! Look me in the eyes! Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Viktor steps forward as commanded, and when Lilia spins one finger in a circle, he turns himself around for her perusal. She continues to stare at him, and defiantly Viktor lifts his chin up, meeting her gaze. He’s come this far and now that he knows what he is, what he can be, there’s nothing that’s going to stand in his way of becoming a great wizard. Not even this intimidating woman.

It would seem that he’s passed some sort of test as Madame Baranovskya frostily concedes, “I’ve seen worse. Fine, I will take him on as a student, Yakov.”

His uncle’s voice is practically smug. “I knew that you would.”

Viktor swallows hard. Whatever his life is going to be now, it will never be like it was. But it’s up to him now. He has to do the best he can, be the best he can. Nothing else will suffice. Taking a deep breath, Viktor continues to stare back at his aunt. He can do this. He has no other choice.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the fabulous TiggyMalvern for being my beta reader! You are the best and totally saved my bacon before a certain fire demon could eat it. ;-)
> 
> If you're looking great YOI content, check out my YOI tumblr - yoi-central on tumblr where I post art, stories, recs, meta, and everything else YOI that catches my eye!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and, if so, please consider leaving a kudos and/or a comment? They are a writer's bread, butter, and jam! Both are wonderful, but comments are the best because then I can squeal and thank you in return! :D Your support gives me the energy and passion to keep writing!! <3 <3 <3!


	2. Market Chipping

Morning light streams in through the window, causing the fabric in Yuuri’s hands to glow like a freshly blooming rose, the sheer layers blushing shades of pink and peach. His brow creases as he studies the delicate design of embroidered flowers trailing along the neckline, turning it this way and that with a critical eye. Once satisfied with the final product he places it on his worktable, spreading out the layers of silk and lace. “There you go, and a lovely spring dress you are. I made you for someone special. She’s a very nice girl who loves to dance. You’ll look perfect on her, bring out the color in her cheeks. I can just see the two of you now, swirling and twirling. You’ll be stunning, just you wait and see.”

He knows it’s silly, talking to his creations, but Yuuri takes pride in his work. Each dress, jacket, shirt, and tailored pants are made to be beautiful, elegant, and stylish. In short, everything that he isn’t. They’re his only opportunity to channel the creativity inside of himself and he can’t help but dream a little about how they will transform the person wearing them. Besides, the other tailors and dressmakers know about his eccentricities and none of them pay him any mind. They all work in a large space that adjoins the room where Yuuri designs and sews, so he can be just as reclusive and peculiar as he likes. Some might think it lonely, but Yuuri doesn’t mind the quiet. After all, he rationalizes, he is a very plain person both inside and out. The only thing notable about Yuuri is his skill with a needle, but the rest of him, alas, is as boring as unbuttered toast.

A sudden flurry of activity in the next room draws his attention away from the dress, his head craning backward to look through the doorway to see what the commotion is all about.

“Ahhh! Did you see it?”

“What? Where? Where?”

There is a screeching of chairs and benches as everyone working in the shop rushes to the windows, the girls giggling and pushing past one another to get the best view, the men using their height to look over the clustered heads. Leaning forward, Yuuri looks to the north, peering through the falling snow until his eyes alight upon what has everyone in such a tizzy. It’s the object of everyone’s attention these days, the topic on everyone’s lips, the current grist of the rumor mill, and the reason for all of Yuuri’s working woes, his staff spending more time gawking and gossipping than working ever since the blasted thing arrived.

A trio of excited shrieks pierce the air, followed by a chorus of disappointed sighs as the object of their excitement passes out of sight. “Awwww, it disappeared behind that cloud. But it was the Castle, I saw it!”

“So exciting! This is the sixth time this week I’ve seen it.” Alissandre spins in a circle, her hands clutched to her chest as she closes her eyes in excitement. “I wonder if he’s really as handsome as they say? I’ve heard that he was spotted in town recently! He has such a distinguished name too, the Wizard Nikiforov! Just his  _ name _ sounds handsome, don’t you think?”

“Alissandre, shhhhhh, are you crazy? Saying his name out loud like that? You know what they say about him. If he hears you call his name, he’ll come looking for you, woo you with his wizardly wiles and then after you fall in love with him, he’ll rip your heart out and  _ eat _ it!”

“Ewwwwww! Susanne, that’s gross!”

“It’s true! I swear it!”

“Ahhhh, but you don’t have to worry, Alissandre. He only rips out the hearts of  _ beautiful _ people.”

Another shriek. “You take that back, David! I’m pretty enough to tempt a wizard!”

“You wish! Nope, if Nikiforov is going after anyone, it’s going to be me. I mean, look at this ruggedly handsome chin. Do you think I should grow a beard? Does he like beards?”

“Well, he apparently likes just about anyone, so long as they’re attractive enough. Maybe if you did something with your hair?”

“What? My hair is fabulous! Take that back!”

“Did you hear the latest news?”

“No, what?!”

“My friend Nicole was told by her brother Nicholas who was told by his friend Linda that he, the Wizard Niki- well  _ you _ know who I mean, that he seduced a beautiful girl in some village somewhere. Apparently she was going to run off with him, but then he vanished and so did she. They searched for her everywhere but they couldn’t find her! Everyone is certain that she had her heart eaten! Who  _ knows _ what he did with the rest of her body.”

“I bet if he met the right person, he would fall in love and never dream of eating their heart!”

“What, and you think you’re the ‘right’ person?”

“Why not?!”

“You are all clearly insane. Go on, all of you, get your hearts eaten so I can get some peace and quiet.”

Honestly, Yuuri can’t understand why anyone would want to risk getting their heart eaten in exchange for meeting a supposedly handsome wizard with a castle that can walk around and travel the countryside. Sure, it would probably be an exciting and romantic adventure, right up until the point when said wizard decided he was hungry and that your heart should be on the menu. Nope. No thank you. Yuuri prefers his heart to remain in his chest where it belongs, thank you very much. Not that he would be at any risk. He isn’t handsome or charismatic enough to tempt anyone, let alone the apparently dashing and seductive Wizard Nikiforov. 

Sitting back in his chair, Yuuri stares out the window, catching his reflection in the glass and frowning at it, one hand reaching up to tug with annoyance at his hair. It isn’t fair. In this city, in this country, he  _ should _ be considered at the very least unique and striking. His Yuugen heritage gives his skin a warmer tint than the local populace and, in Ingary, black hair is very uncommon, as are dark colored eyes. And, of course, his eyes are also an unusual shape - slightly slanted and narrow instead of round or oval. But somehow, these features do him no service and people more often look past him than at him.

Yuuri reaches out to pick up a framed photograph of his family, fingers fondly tracing over their smiling faces. Both his father and mother are rather short and round in stature, the former true for him as well, and the latter a constant battle to keep in control. In stark contrast, both of Yuuri’s older sisters are considered by the locals to be striking, though for  _ very _ different reasons. 

Yuuri’s eyes come to rest on his eldest sister, Mari, dressed in the haori and hakama attire from their homeland. That alone causes her to stand out amongst the elegantly dressed ladies of Market Chipping, with their fine gowns and elegant skirts. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she wears her hair cropped short with the ends bleached.  _ ‘How scandalous! She dresses like a  _ man _!’ _ and  _ ‘Dear God, what has she done to  _ hair _?!’  _ are just a few of the exclamations of consternation and contempt that Yuuri has heard over the years. If it wasn’t for the fact that she works at their family inn, things would be much worse.

When Yuuri’s ancestors settled in Ingary, they opened up Yutopia - a humble, yet prosperous inn, featuring the traditional decor, dress, and dishes of Yuugen. Touted as a unique gem, hidden in the folds of Chipping Market, tourists are constantly staying there to experience a taste of a world beyond the ability of most to reach. At least there, Mari’s clothes are considered part of the experience. If it weren’t for that convenient excuse, Yuuri imagines there would be petitions about her appearance flooding the Mayor’s office. She’s probably the bravest person Yuuri has ever known and he can only wonder what it must be like to be so courageous.

His finger brushes the photographic cheek of his youngest sister, Yuuko, though she is still his elder by two years at 25. It’s no wonder that she is widely acknowledged as one of the prettiest girls in town. Her hair is not the harsh black of his but a softer, dark brown tint, adorably tied back with fancy bows and ribbons. She is as sweet and lovely as the delicious goods she bakes and sells, and just as equally sought after. Business at the patisserie nearly doubled after she started working there. She was Yuuri’s best friend as well as his sister, always giving him hugs and support. She is, without a doubt, one of the happiest and kindest people that he has ever known and Yuuri can only hope to be as joyful and content as she is.

Then his eyes fall upon the image of himself, lips pursing in annoyance. He can’t understand why his brown eyes don’t twinkle and shine like Yuuko’s, or why his black hair is unruly and plain despite its rare status. How can these same features be unremarkable on him, yet remarkable on his sisters? Yuuri puts the photo aside with a huff before glancing through the doorway once more. The noise in the other room has yet to die down and really, that is the answer in and of itself. He’s just too quiet and shy. He’s never been comfortable around others and most of the things that people talk about seem utterly trivial to him. In short, he just doesn’t fit in like Yuuko does and he doesn’t have the confidence to change his circumstances like Mari.

Yuuri lays his chin within the palm of his hand and leans his elbow upon the counter, staring through the window once again. The heavy steam of a passing train briefly blocks his view of the snow spiralling down from the sky, settling bright and white upon the ground and rooftops. Winter had come far too early and now it was lingering far too late. Standing up, he picks up the dress he was working on and hangs it up apologetically. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until the weather improves before you get to show off at any parties.”

The quibbling of the workspace is broken off by the sound of a door opening and a familiar voice calling out a cheerful hello.

“Hiroko! You’re back!” There’s another rush of feet as the attention in the room shifts to the opposite side, but the babbling continues on just as excited as before.

Yuuri slips off of his stool and walks to the door, leaning against the jamb as his mother suddenly has six assistants to help relieve her of the many boxes that she’s bearing.

The questions are like a small avalanche, burying the woman before she can even get a chance to reply to any of them. “How was your trip? Did you have a good time? What did you bring us? Did you find any new and exciting styles? Where did you go? How long will you be staying this time?” Hiroko smiles indulgently, allowing the wares that she has brought in with her to answer many of their questions and allowing the rest to drizzle away.

Inquiries turn into exclamations and coos of delight. Like a burst of pigeons taking to the air, hands flutter and flap, drawing out lengths of fancy lace, exquisitely embroidered samples, and beautiful new fabrics in an array of colors that would cause every season of the year to blush. While the staff continue to gush over the new finds, Hiroko bypasses them to draw close to her son, carrying with her a notebook.

“Tadaima,” she offers with a small bow, to which Yuuri smiles warmly and replies, “Okaeri.” They may not live in Yuugen, but their language and traditions of their homeland are still dear to their hearts and a part of their lives. Reaching out a hand, she briefly touches Yuuri’s cheek. “Yu-chan, you look tired.”

He summons a smile and shrugs. “It’s alright. We’ve just been very busy, that’s all. I’m glad that you’re finally home. I was worried, what with all the snow.”

“It wasn’t so bad. It’s spring everywhere else. It seems like only winter is only lingering in Ingary. Hopefully it will move along soon.” She hands him the notebook, her eyes bright and focused on his face. “I brought you something that I thought you might like.”

Smiling, Yuuri takes the book from his mother and begins to flip through the pages. He knows what she brought him. She does this every time she travels. She calls them her inspiration books and in them she sketches and pastes in images and pictures, samples of fabric or pressed flowers. Anything that catches her eye and her fancy. Yuuri loves her books. No two are alike.

As always, there are sketches of what she saw on her travels - fabulous gowns and suits, the latest fashions from a multitude of cities and countries, small swatches of new patterned fabrics and papers, some small paintings she must have bought at the local street fairs, unusual leaves and flowers he’s not seen before, and as alway meticulous notes about everything she’s collected in her small and tidy hand. While he studies each page in turn, his mother claps her hands for attention and calls out to the staff, instructing them that there is much more waiting to be unloaded from the cart. In less than five seconds the room is silent, only the sound of footsteps running down the stairs echoing behind them.

Yuuri smirks but says nothing as he continues to study the pictures, gesturing to those he finds particularly interesting. “I like this cut very much. Look how the fabric flows, like some kind of exotic fish’s fins. I wonder how they managed to do that. And this one, like a bird’s wings. Exquisite.” He leans in closer, nose wrinkling as he adjusts his glasses and then lifts his head back to meet his mother’s gaze. “I wouldn’t want to copy any of them outright though…”

“No, no of course not. Just wanted to bring these to you to see if they would be inspiring. Really, next year you should go instead of me. I’m not as young as I used to be and I can only guess which clothes you might find of interest. If you go yourself, you’ll be able to discover everything that interests you.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri replies dubiously, still flipping pages. “I think you see much more than I would. Besides, I know how much you love to travel, and you know I’m not very good with people,” he reminds her, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Ah, Yuuri, you’re always underestimating yourself. Hopefully someday you’ll see yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you. Then you’ll know your true worth.” Patting his hand, she murmurs, “Come, show me the shop. I want to see what everyone has been making while I’ve been gone.” She ignores the returning hubbub, letting her staff indulge in exploring all of her purchases while she and Yuuri head to the shop floor.

Flipping on the lights, Yuuri trails after his mother as she strolls through the room, her hands gently parting hangers to examine the selections, fingers tracing over sleeves and bodices of the mannequin gowns and suits, smiling as she goes. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yes, we’ve been working quite a bit, trying to get a spring collection together while still supplying for the winter,” Yuuri notes, one hand gesturing to the snow still visible falling outside the shop’s front window, though the flakes are smaller and lighter now.

“No, I mean,  _ you _ have been busy. No wonder you look so tired.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

Turning to face her son, Hiroko shakes her head. “You can’t fool me, Yu-chan. I know that half of the clothes here were made by you.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flush in embarrassment, his hands slipping into his pockets as he rocks on this feet, looking up toward the ceiling. “Well, you know, there’s been a lot of demand and…”

“And you’ve been letting the others take advantage of you while I’ve been away,” his mother interjects in a gently chiding tone.

He clenches his hands, not wanting to get anyone in trouble. But they were falling behind in their orders and stock when Suzanne suddenly said she had a cold. Shortly after that David claimed he needed a few days off for a family emergency, and then it seemed like everyone needed some time off for some reason or another. And who was Yuuri to tell them no? He might have been in charge while his mother was away, but he doesn’t have the confidence to be a boss. It’s just not in his nature. But he can’t say that, so instead he inquires curiously, “How can you tell?”

She laughs, a bright cheerful sound, as if she were amazed that Yuuri could even ask such a question. “Yu-chan, your work stands out.” At his disbelieving expression she counters, “It does!” She walks around, touching her hand upon every blouse and shirt, every jacket and coat, every dress and gown, and every scarf and shawl that Yuuri has made. “Your clothing stands apart. It always has, ever since you were a child. And do you want to know why?”

His head tilts to one side as he looks at the clothes he’s made quizzically. “Why?”

Stepping close to her son, Hiroko places a hand upon his chest. “It’s because you put your heart into everything that you make, into everything that you do. And it shows. That attention, that love, makes a difference that I can see. That everyone can see. You’re very special Yuuri, even if don’t believe it. You have an amazing gift.”

He flushes again under the kind words and Hiroko laughs once again. “Come on, let's get back to the workroom and get everything properly sorted and put away before everyone gets busy with the afternoon rush and then claims at the end of the day that it’s time to go home and leaves it all for you to take care of.”

“Okaasan!” Yuuri whines, unable to deny the truth of this mother’s words, which causes her to laugh again. But she stops halfway to the door before turning around.

“Actually, Yuuri, I would like you to do me a favor. Go visit with Yuuko at the patisserie and invite her over to the house tonight along with Takeshi. It would be nice to have dinner with the whole family tonight.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously as she adds, “And make sure Yuuko brings home something fabulous for dessert!”

That causes Yuuri to smile and laugh. “I don’t think it would be possible for her  _ not  _ to bring something for dessert! I’m just glad she’s married now with a home of her own, otherwise I would never be able to keep my weight down.”

Opening the front door of the shop, Yuuri reaches out a hand, testing the temperature which, while chilly, is not the bitter cold that he was expecting. The sun is pushing through the clouds and with it, the air seems to be warming up a little. A good thing too, since there will be crowds of people lining the streets any minute now to watch the military parade. Drawing on a lightweight coat and a scarf Yuuri doesn’t bother donning either a hat or gloves, since the snow has stopped. Hiroko waits next to him and as he steps out the door she lays a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll be opening up the store after the parade is over. Can you pick up some of those lace cookies as well while you’re out? I’d like to have them available for the customers. Nothing like some tea and cookies to encourage people to linger while they shop,” she adds with an impish smile. This is why part of why Katsuki Clothing is such a success. Yuuri’s mother is a natural when it comes to making people feel welcome and cared for.

“See? This is why you’re in charge and I’m not,” Yuuri points out with a loving shake of his head. He never works the floor. He would make a terrible salesman and everyone here knows it. “How many should I get?” 

His mother ponders for a moment before deciding. “I think three dozen should be plenty. And take your time, we have a few hours yet and I’m sure you haven’t had any time to spend with Yuuko. Besides, you deserve a break and those ingrates upstairs can do some of your work for a change.” 

Her words might be harsh, but her tone is gentle and Yuuri knows better than to worry for their staff. Hiroko is firm, but fair. No one will get anything worse than a talking to and a few extra hours of work to make up for the hours they skipped. His lips purse thoughtfully. “Yuuko might not have any time to spend with me. I’m sure the bakery is busy getting ready for customers as well. They’ll be flooded after the parade.”

“Well, get yourself some lunch at the very least. I don’t want to see you back here until just before we open, do you hear me?”

“Hai!” Yuuri waves goodby before turning to face the street, the door shutting and locking softly behind him. Taking a moment, he breathes in the cool air, enjoying the light breeze blowing through his hair. Yes, he’s tired of shoveling snow and yes, he would like it to be spring, but it’s still a lovely day and with a room at the shop for him to stay in, he’s barely gotten out these past few weeks. A contented smile curls his lips as he jogs down the front steps, turning toward the patisserie. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the fabulous [TiggyMalvern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggyMalvern/profile) for being my beta reader! You are the best and totally saved my bacon before a certain fire demon could eat it. ;-)
> 
> If you're looking great YOI content, check out my YOI tumblr - [yoi-central on tumblr](http://yoi-central.tumblr.com) where I post art, stories, recs, meta, and everything else YOI that catches my eye! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and, if so, please consider leaving a kudos and/or a comment? They are a writer's bread, butter, and jam! Both are wonderful, but comments are the best because then I can squeal and thank you in return! :D


	3. The Way to a Man's Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, look out, there's finally PLOT!
> 
> Also, just a quick reminder that while this story is a YOI/Howl's Moving Castle crossover, it does stray quite a bit from both the book and the movie. In short, characters and situations may not be quite the same as you remember them. >;-)

Looking at himself in the mirror, Viktor turns this way and that, taking in his appearance with an approving gaze. His long blonde hair cascades over his shoulders like a shimmering stream of pale gold and his eyes sparkle like opals. His white shirt is made of the finest imported silk, the buttons daringly undone to his sternum, while his trousers are sleek and form fitting. Over his shoulders he’s draped a jacket inspired by flowers with accents of black and gold. The fabric starts by mimicking the pale pink of cherry blossoms before gently blooming into the lush magenta of begonias. Epaulettes of gold accent each shoulder, with matching braided strands closing the front of the garment as well as highlighting the left shoulder. Fanciful black panels across the front and matching bold cuffs just past the elbows add distinction and contrast.

He slides his arms into the sleeves, black fingerless gloves weaving through the air as he considers the look for a moment before slipping free once again. The weather would suggest that he wear the article of clothing as it was designed to be worn. But the cold has no effect on Viktor, and he finds wearing it as a cloak looks more distinctive and dashing. He’s a man who enjoys living a colorful life, open to love and adventures, and these clothes reflects this. Or, at least, that is the illusion that he is carefully crafting.

He admires how the gold accents throughout echo the gleaming length of his hair. The final touch is a pair of dangling opal earrings to match his eyes. He continues to twist and turn, looking at himself this way and that, making sure that nothing is out of place. He has to be perfect, after all. He’s running out of time and it’s important that he finds a new lover soon. Today, however, he feels lucky. It’s the perfect setting for finding someone new. Market Chipping is in celebration today as the military passes through town on their way to war. Patriotism is in the air and spirits are high, the people already celebrating a victory that has yet to be won.

He knows that he’ll find someone amidst the celebrating throngs. He has to. His life depends on it.

Finally satisfied with his appearance, Viktor gives one final twirl before heading out of his bedroom. Trippingly he dances down the stairs, spinning before the fireplace dramatically. “Well, what do you think?”

The fire looks up at Viktor and snorts. “What I _think_ is that you look like a pathetic moron. What are you trying to do, sell yourself at the market as a bunch of flowers?”

Peering down at himself, Viktor frowns. “What, it’s too much?”

“ _You’re_ too much!”

“Awwww, Yuri, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

The flames surge and crackle in annoyance. “It wasn’t meant as a compliment, you mu’dak! Tch. I have no idea why _anyone_ would find you attractive, old man.”

Viktor lifts a hand to his chest in shock, his eyes wide with mock hurt. “I’m 28 years old!”

“See? ANCIENT!”

Shaking his head, Viktor traipses past the fireplace, a smile curling his lips as he rummages through the various items and potions on his worktable, making sure he has everything he might need. “I don’t know why I even ask you. You’re not even human, what do you know about beauty? Besides, you’re clearly just mad.”

“If I am, it’s because you’ve driven me to it!”

Viktor laughs brightly. “I meant mad as in angry, not insane!” But when no snarky comment follows, he turns his head in surprise. “Yuri?”

The fire is banked low, the heat of it flickering through the embers and ashes pensively before finally asking in a voice too soft and too serious, “Viktor, how much longer are you going to have to do this?" 

Viktor’s smile runs away, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know.” He plasters on a fake smile and quips sarcastically, “Forever?”

The flames flicker mulishly. “You can’t do it forever, Viktor. It’s not enough. You know it’s not. And these are people’s lives, their hearts.”

A flare of anger rushes over Viktor as he stomps over to the fireplace, hands crossing over his chest defensively. “Oh? And since when do you care about anyone other than yourself?” Regret for his snide response surges through him, dousing his anger like a bucket of cold water. The fire before him surges instead, the blaze reaching to the top of the hearth.

“Fuck you. Otva`li”

Viktor lifts a hand, stepping forward. “No, wait, Yuri, I’m sorry. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just, you know how much I hate this.”

Just as suddenly as it flared, the flames drop down once again, sulking and silent.

Viktor stands there, ashamed, his hands rubbing his cold arms uselessly. He knows Yuri is right, he just doesn’t know what else he can do. Reaching deep down inside of himself, Viktor fixes a cheerful smile to his face. Fight or no fight, there’s work to be done. He can’t fix this, but he can pretend that none of it happened and that will make things better, right? His smile twists bitterly at the folly of his own thoughts, but he still forces himself to wave to the hearth as he passes by on his way to the door.

“Wish me luck!” Stopping at the top of the stairs, his eyes close gratefully when a sullen voice mutters softly behind him.

“Whatever.”

Three steps and he’s down, standing before the door as he considers the dial there. He’s been here for a week, but this is the first time he’s dared to venture into town. Leaving the Wastes is always a risk. But today he’ll have the cover of the parade and the chaos of the crowds in his favor. Taking a deep breath, Viktor reaches out a hand, turns the dial to the pink quarter, and opens the door.

Gone are the Wastes and before him is the main street of Chipping Market, the ground covered with a light dusting of snow. He closes the door of the empty shop front before anyone can notice him emerging from there.

He can almost hear them, beating all around him. After all, everyone in the world has a heart, but he didn’t used to be so attuned to them. Like a man who has lost one of his senses, Viktor has gained a sensitivity that he didn’t have before. He knows what to look for now. Innocence. Naivety. Shyness. Those are the easiest to seduce and capture. They still have a romantic view of the world, but see themselves as undesirable. They are longing for love, but have no idea how to gain it. They are the easiest to succumb to flattery and attention and when they fall in love, they fall deeply, giving all of their heart.

At times like these he feels like a shark, sniffing the water for the faintest hint of blood. While his eyes search for romantic prey, his magic searches for something else. The power of the heart. He has learned, over time, how to sense the depth of emotions in another. Some hearts are, quite simply, bigger than others and with more to give. If he chooses someone with a small and selfish heart, one that is shallow and attracted to the trappings of romance rather than true affection, they will prove to be a poor meal for him. The big hearted, on the other hand, give more of themselves to him and, as a result, their hearts last much longer, keeping the bitter cold of the world at bay.

Alas, with such a patriotic display at hand, most of the people on the street are small at heart. They are here to see and be seen. They are here, cheering for the worst thing in the world - war. The soldiers have begun to march down the streets in formation, flags and banners being waved from those flocking on either side of the streets as well as from the windows overlooking the parade. What he wants is not here, and forging a connection amidst all the chaos will be difficult. It’s hard to make an impression when everyone around you is trying to make one too. No, he’ll have to search for a different hunting ground.

Ducking into an alley, Viktor wends his way through the streets of Market Chipping until he comes across a relatively quiet street. This one is filled with shops of all kinds, many of which are closed in light of the parade and celebrations of the day, likely knowing that sales will be slow when there is so much else to occupy the attention of the crowds. Once the parade is past, they’ll open for business, the attendees of the pomp and ceremony looking for new entertainments and distractions.

He’s looking up the street, but his magic flares with an awareness so intense, Viktor can’t help but spin about and stare.

A simple looking man steps out of a shop half a block away from him. He cannot see him clearly, but he is already struck by his appearance. Black hair is extremely rare in Ingary, after all. He’s young, early twenties by the look of it, and speaking to someone standing in the doorway, out of sight.

But it’s not his unusual traits that capture Viktor’s attention, it’s the emotional depth emanating from him. He’s like a banquet set before a starving man. If Viktor were a wild creature, he would be drooling at the sight of such a feast. Him. It must be him. He’s _perfect_.

Viktor watches avidly as the man nods to whomever he was speaking with before making his way down the street, turning to the right to head down an alleyway rather than continuing along the main road.

How many times has he done this now? He knows the answer all too well. Too many. Way too many times. But he can’t help himself. He needs this. Just as others need food and water in order to live, Viktor needs human hearts. Unfortunately, you can’t just buy them at the market. In the end, there’s only one way to get to someone’s heart.

Viktor only waits a moment before hurrying after his prey. No, not his prey, his new lover.

  
  


**********

  
  


It’s with a sigh of relief that Yuuri turns down the familiar alleyway leading to the bakery. He can hear the parade has started a few blocks over and as such he hurries along. They still have at least an hour before the parade ends, but it’s best not to dally. Hopefully it won’t already be so busy that he can’t get a few minutes with Yuuko.

Yuuri makes his way down the complicated maze of streets and alleyways without paying any attention to his steps. He’s been this way a hundred times before and his mind can travel along its own path while muscle memory leads him along the physical one. He doesn’t notice the passing buildings or signs, his mind picturing before him the latest jacket that he’s been working on, pondering the design he is going to embroider on the collar and cuffs. It’s a loud and gruff voice that stops both his thoughts and his steps.

“Hey you! Stop right there!”

Yuuri freezes, more out of surprise than anything else. No one ever stops him. No one ever even notices him. Turning around, his eyes widen as he sees two soldiers rushing toward him, hands on their guns. Without thinking twice he raises his hands up, a surge of adrenaline rushing through him.

“Who are you? What do you think you’re doing, skulking through this alley?”

Skulking? Yuuri frowns. He was by no means skulking, he was walking perfectly normally. “I live here. This is a shortcut.” He almost opens his mouth to explain why he is here and where he is going before he snaps it shut. Why should he have to explain himself to these two men? Yes, they are at war, but this sleepy town is yet to be affected by it, and the soldiers themselves are only passing through on their way to the front.

“You? Live here?” The disbelief rings through their voices and suddenly Yuuri is all too aware of why they are bothering him. He certainly doesn’t look like a local at all. His dark hair and short stature are rare attributes in this country. Apparently it doesn’t matter that they aren’t a common trait in the populace of Strangia either. Different stands out. Different is suspicious, especially in the eyes of newcomers who don’t know about him and his family and are on their way to war. It takes him no time at all to realize what they suspect.

Nodding, he counters, “Yes, I live here. I’ve lived here all my life. 

“Papers.”

Papers? Why would he be carrying papers in his hometown? The soldiers before him are clearly unconvinced, one of them imperiously holding out a hand while the other keeps his weapon at the ready. Are they serious? Slowly Yuuri lowers his hands, opening them up in front of himself placatingly, “I don’t have my papers on me. Like I said before, I’m not a visitor, I _live_ here.”

“Is that so? Well our job is to protect this country and it seems very suspicious to us that you, an obvious foreigner, are sneaking around in a back alley on the day of the Grand Parade rather than watching it. For all we know you could be a spy, or planning on planting a bomb.”

Yuuri blinks at them in shock, straightening up in an attempt to look taller and fierce. It fails completely. “Look, this is pure prejudice and you have no right to accuse me of anything. I live here! I’m a full citizen of Ingary.”

“Awww, look at that Dimitry, you’ve got him all puffed up like a scared kitten. I think we should take him to the barracks. Perhaps perform a strip search and an interrogation, just to make sure he isn’t trying to hide something from us, neh?”

What? Strip search? Interrogation? What the heck is happening here? Is this real? Yuuri starts to nervously back away, hands warding now and he counters softly, “You have no right. I’m a citizen and you have no right to arrest me…”

Dimitry doesn’t even seem to hear Yuuri, his lips curving into a cruel smile as he replies to his compatriot, “It’s more fun when they’re scared, isn’t it? I bet he’ll crack like an egg under the pressure.”

Yuuri is already trying to determine which way to run when a smooth, rich voice cuts in from behind him with a soft, “Excuse me,” proffered to the two soldiers. A hand comes to rest upon Yuuri’s right shoulder and a voice as soft as sin murmurs into his ear, “There you are, darling, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” The hand on his shoulder shifts to wrap around Yuuri’s waist while the other takes Yuuri’s left hand, lifting it up to place a tender kiss upon the knuckles thereof.

Yuuri freezes, eyes wide as he turns and looks up at the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Long flowing blonde hair cascades over one shoulder while bright blue eyes sparkle affectionately down at him from a pale, aristocratic face. Yuuri blinks, unable to even form words with such a dazzling vision before him. Which is just as well, because those eyes are no longer directed at him, but at the soldiers before them, a frown of displeasure maring those perfect features.

In a flash, the light within that gaze becomes cold and brittle and Yuuri cannot help but shiver from the chill that runs up his spine, the very air about him growing frigid and bitter. “Thank you gentlemen for finding my companion for me. Your services are no longer necessary.”

“Now see here, you can’t just…” and “You’re interfering with the King’s guard…” layer upon the air as each soldier reacts to the potential loss of their plaything.

“Oh,” counters the living piece of art, “but I can.” The hand holding Yuuri’s releases and reaches out. A finger flicks out imperiously and suddenly the soldiers are standing at attention, guns locked to their shoulders in marching formation. A twirl of the same finger and they instantly perform an about face. A cascading roll of said fingers send the two men bustling off in the opposite direction, clearly not in control of their bodies any longer and both of them loudly complaining about that fact until they are out of sight, their voices fading away.

Those luminous eyes return to Yuuri’s bewildered gaze, all hint of annoyance gone now. “Hello there. Allow me to offer you a safe escort?”

“I- um, that’s really not necessary?” His voice ends in a squeak as the hand at his waist squeezes gently, most likely a gesture of reassurance that does nothing of the sort. Yuuri’s heart is pounding a mile a minute and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the soldier’s threats or the man next to him holding him so close. Unnerved, he tries to gently disentangle himself from the most beautiful man in the world.

“I insist,” is the reply he receives, and Yuuri is gently turned back the way he was heading.

After the unexpected conflict, Yuuri has to confess that he does feel rather grateful for the company of the man, even if his sense of personal boundaries is more affectionate than Yuuri is accustomed to. “You’re… you’re a wizard, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” The man’s eyes gleam with amusement and delight. “Is that a problem?”

In truth, the idea that he’s walking with a wizard does belatedly make Yuuri a bit nervous, especially in light of the gossip about the Wizard Nikiforov in the shop just moments before. But, after being treated to a dose of undeserved prejudice, Yuuri cannot bring himself to treat his rescuer to the same unkindness.

“Ahhh, no, no of course not. It’s just that we don’t have a wizard here in Ingary, so it’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

“Ahhhh. So you’re a local here?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri concurs, choosing not to elaborate on that fact. He doesn’t need to explain himself; not to those soldiers and not to his temporary chaperone. Much to his surprise, however, the man doesn’t press for details.

“Excellent! Then perhaps you can help me? I’m here visiting Market Chipping. As you say, you don’t have a wizard already and I’m thinking of setting up business here. But I could really use the help of someone local to the area. Do you think I could perhaps borrow a little of your time? I don’t know anyone else in the city and I could really use a friend.”

Yuuri glances up, his gaze met with a charming smile and hopeful blue eyes. He blinks under the onslaught, his heart stuttering in his chest. It doesn’t even occur to him to protest, to tell the man that he is very busy with work and has errands to run. Instead, the words just tumble out of his mouth.

“Yes? Yes, I would be happy to help you.”

The smile grows impossibly bigger, forming into the shape of a heart, and gratitude shines from those aqua eyes that remind Yuuri of a bolt of silk just recently arrived in their shop. This man would look amazing, dressed in that color. Though honestly he would look good dressed in anything. In fact, he would look good even dressed in nothing. Fortunately that scandalous image is interrupted as the wizard grabs Yuuri’s hand unexpectedly. Blinking, Yuuri realizes that a dark frown has come over the man’s brow, his head turning to look behind them.

Yuuri’s head turns as well, worry suddenly percolating through his system. “What? What is it? Are the soldiers coming back?”

“No, not precisely.” But Yuuri can’t help noticing that the hand about his waist tightens and that their pace has become faster. The man’s eyes flicker to the left and right and occasionally behind them. “Ummmm, can I ask you for a favor right now? Just, keep your eyes open.”

“What? Why are you- eyes open for what?” Maybe this man is a spy? But that’s insane. Spies are meant to be unseen, ordinary, like him. This man is anything but that.

“Mmm... well, you see, I have, ah, some competitors who are, lets say, eager to set up business here before me? But I didn’t realize they were already in town and it seems that I’m being followed by something much less friendly than your soldiers back there.”

 _Less_ friendly? Yuuri starts to pull away slightly, stuttering, “Look, I appreciate your help but-” His voice cuts off as he notices a shadow in his peripheral vision moving, morphing into a shape that starts to pull itself out of the wall. His head jerks as he startles, glancing over his shoulder to confirm that yes indeed, there is a shadow following them, a strange blob like shape that seems to be growing arms and legs, taking on a humanoid form. This is impossible. This is unnatural. He knew that wizards dealt in simple potions and spells, but he’s never seen anything like this before. This is magic far beyond his ken.

“Ahhh, this is unfortunate. It looks like we’ve been discovered.”

Yuuri’s head jerks back to the man holding him close, who is now hurrying him forward. If this man is a wizard then his competitor is a wizard as well. Yuuri’s blood runs cold with the realization that ending up in the middle of a standoff between wizards might actually be more dangerous than being captured by those two soldiers.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this. I didn’t mean to pull you out of the pan just to drop you into the fire.” The blonde man’s voice is kind, laced with worry as he glances down into Yuuri’s face and offers him a reassuring smile. The hand still on Yuuri’s waist gives a gentle squeeze. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise. But we have to hurry.”

They break into a quick jog and Yuuri can see more and more shadows dragging themselves free and coming into shape, surging after them in a growing hoard. The man abruptly yanks Yuuri down a different alleyway when suddenly more blob men appear from the opposite direction, the two rushing hoards crashing into each other for a moment, stuck together as their gelatinous forms briefly merge before separating again and continuing their pursuit. Looking up ahead, Yuuri’s eyes widen as he sees another group heading right toward them. Turning his head from side to side he sees no other routes or doors. There is no escape.

The wizard’s voice is calm, unworried as he asks, “Can you skate?” and when Yuuri fails to answer, he simply announces, “Hold on!”

Yuuri’s eyes close as the hoard rushing them is close enough to touch and then his stomach lurches abruptly and falls as air rushes all around them, causing him to gasp and recoil in fear and confusion. But there is no crush of flesh, no hands or arms, gelatinous or otherwise, grabbing onto him. There is only the wizard’s arm around his waist, his body pressed close against Yuuri’s side.

His hand is taken once more as the wizard’s voice softly murmurs, “It’s alright, you can open your eyes now.”

They’re flying. They’re _flying_. An undignified squeak escapes Yuuri’s lips.

“It’s alright, you can do this. Just imagine you’re skating. You can skate, right? Just glide on the air.”

Yuuri’s feet are still curled up, as if he were jumping, but the man holding him close, holding him safe, demonstrates by sliding one foot back at an angle while the other slides forward, and then repeats the gesture with the other leg. Oh. Skating, yes. Yes, Yuuri knows how to skate. He loves to skate. He can do this. Taking a deep breath he allows his legs to lower and tries to glide upon the air.

It feels weird. There’s no ice beneath his feet. Despite the assertion that the air is like ice, it is anything but. Ice is solid, air is not. But he can pretend. His body knows how to skate, with or without the hard reality of frozen water beneath his feet. A soft delighted laugh escapes his companion, causing Yuuri to look back up into that gorgeous face.

“Look at you. You’re a natural!”

He’s 100 yards in the air with the most beautiful person in the world looking down at him like he’s precious. Yuuri can’t decide if his heart is going to burst from fear or from delight. His small city is laid out beneath him, people bustling about in bright colored coats, hats, and scarves through the crisp white snow, with no inkling of what is happening right over their heads. He has never felt this alive.

“It’s probably best that I drop you off as soon as possible. I don’t want to trouble you any further. Where are you going?”

Yuuri blinks, his mind still dazed by the fact that they are flying, taking in everything with astonishment and awe. “Umm, the bakery. I’m heading to the bakery.” He remembers then that the man is new in town, his gaze dropping to the landscape beneath their feet. He’s never seen the city from this perspective and as such it takes him a minute to orient himself, his hand pointing to a building with a cheerful red roof. “There.”

“Alright.” They shift direction, skating across the sky in tandem and Yuuri can’t help but look back up into the face of the man holding him close. His golden hair ripples out behind them as the wind flows around and past and then, as if sensing his gaze, he looks down at Yuuri again and smiles. Yuuri feels as if his breath was just stolen away.

It is with a mix of both relief and disappointment when Yuuri sees the deck that belongs to his sister’s place of work before them. The blonde releases Yuuri’s waist, shifting to catch hold of his hands instead before spinning him about. As he is slowly lowered to the wood planks, Yuuri can feel gravity take over his body once again, his weight gradually settling back into his feet.

“Best you stay here for awhile. I don’t want to mix you up in this any more than I already have.” Despite the reassuring smile upon his lips, the wizard’s eyes seem sad and just as disappointed as Yuuri feels. “Hopefully, once this unpleasant business is dealt with, we will meet again.” But there’s something about those words that feel more like a goodbye than anything else. The wizard takes a step back from the railing that he was standing upon, his cloak flying open like wings, the wind causing his hair to swirl in a way that is wholly unnatural and picture perfect. And with that he drops dramatically out of sight. Gasping, Yuuri rushes forward, terrified that he’ll find the man splattered upon the ground beneath the deck, but his gaze finds nothing beyond the bustling crowds.

The wizard is gone.

He barely has a minute to contemplate everything that has happened when he hears a clattering of shoes upon the stair. Turning, he gasps as his sister barrels into him, squeezing him tightly.

“Yuuri!” Pulling away from him, Yuuko looks up into his face, her eyes wide and her expression worried. “Are you okay? Someone just said that you came floating down to the balcony in the company of a wizard!” Her hands scrabble at his jacket, pulling it apart before laying a palm upon his shirt, a breath of relief escaping her. “Thank God.”

Curling his fingers about her own, Yuuri smiles down at his sister. “I’m fine Yuuko. Nothing bad happened.”

“You’re stupid, Katsuki Yuuri! You _know_ that the Wizard Nikiforov’s castle has been seen roaming along the mountains to the north. What if that had been him! You could have lost your heart!. He could have _eaten_ it.”

Yuuri huffs softly in laughter, cupping his sister’s cheek. “If _you_ had met the Wizard Nikiforov, then there would be cause for worry. Everyone knows that he only steals the hearts of beautiful men and women, and _everyone_ knows that you’re the prettiest girl in town.”

Frowning, Yuuko smacks Yuuri’s chest, even if she doesn’t deny the claim. And rightfully so. The bakery is extremely popular, and it’s not just because they make delicious pastries. Yuuko must receive at least five proposals of marriage day, each of which she turns down. It doesn’t apparently matter to anyone that she’s already married. “Yuuri, you are a handsome man. Don’t put yourself down that way. Nikiforov would be lucky to have your heart.”

Smiling at his sister, Yuuri tilts his head to one side, teasing, “So which is it? You want the Wizard Nikiforov to find me beautiful and eat my heart, or not?”

“That’s not funny. Just, just promise me that you’ll be careful. You may be too humble to see the truth, but I’m your older sister and I know better. So just, please, be careful. I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to you.”

“Just by two years,” he teases with a smirk. But when Yuuko swats his chest again, he sobers, catching her hand and squeezing it gently. “I’ll be careful, neechan. I promise." 

“You better,” she huffs, wiping her hands on her skirts before leading him downstairs. “I came as soon as I heard the news, but lucky for you I’m on my lunch break. Want to join me?” Yuuri’s stomach growls, reminding him that he only had breakfast _very_ early that morning and nothing else since.

“That sounds great. So long as you’re not just going to feed me cake and pastries.”

His sister’s laugh is a musical sound, as enchanting to the ears as her appearance is to the eyes. “We have savory pastries too, you know.”

Yuuri pinches his waist, measuring how much pudge he is currently sporting before sighing expansively. “Very well. But no dessert.”

The two of them gather up a selection of baked goods along with some fruit and vegetables before ensconcing themselves back in the relative quiet of the storerooms. Perching upon some crates, Yuuko hands Yuuri a meat pasty, noting, “I baked this myself, so you know it’ll be good.”

Yuuri sighs as he takes the offering from his sister, sniffing it before making a soft sound of delight. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Yuuko swats his arm again which causes Yuuri to offer his obligatory complaint of “ow” even though it doesn’t hurt at all. Being only two years apart, they’ve always been close and now that Yuuko is married, Yuuri has come to realize just how much he misses having his sister around.

He doesn’t even get the chance to take a bite before she’s grilling him. “So, who exactly was that? What happened? Tell me everything!”

Yuuri takes a bite and chews it first, swallowing before he begins his brief tale of adventure. And once he’s finished, Yuuko is staring at him with wide eyes.

“How terrifying! I don’t know which is scarier, those soldiers harassing you or that wizard and whatever trouble he is clearly involved in.” Her lips purse before she takes a bite of her own lunch. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Soldiers, wizards, war, it’s like everyone has gone mad! I mean, who would be crazy enough to kidnap the prince? Surely Strangia can’t believe that Ingary would ignore such a blatant attack and not go to war over it?” Her expression softens with sadness. “And poor Prince Christophe. I know it’s horrible to think this way, but even if he’s still alive, I can’t help but wonder for how long? The King won’t bow down to Strangia, even to save his son’s life. Especially when there is another heir to the throne.”

Yuuri’s head bobs up and down. He doesn’t really follow the news or politics, but it’s impossible not to know when your country has declared war against its neighbor. The most he can hope for is to stay well out the whole mess and that the road to peace is both speedy and relatively bloodless. But only a fool would believe that there will be no casualties in a war, and while Yuuri is many things, he is not a fool.

“How are things at the shop?" 

“Oh, you know. Busy, as always. Okaasan is back. She wants everyone over for dinner tonight to celebrate and asked me to let you and Takeshi know.”

“And what else?”

“Else?”

Yuuko’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “What else did okaasan want you to ask me for?”

“Oh, right, she wanted me to see if you could spare some of those lace cookies for customers to enjoy along with tea while gowns are modeled for them.”

“I knew there was an ulterior motive in you coming here!” 

“Hey, I resent that remark!”

“No, you resemble that remark. Face it, you spend all of your time in the shop, making clothes night and day.” Leaning forward, Yuuko peers into his face. “Yuuri, are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Ehh? What do you mean? I’m the youngest and everyone else is settled, so of course I’m going to work in the shop. And I’m good at it, unlike Mari and you.” His shoulders shrug as his gaze drops to the slice of apple between his fingers. “Besides, what else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the Katsuki name. It’s fine.”

When he glances up, he finds himself confronted by Yuuko’s brown eyes filling with tears. Hastily he waves his hands at her, forcing a smile to his lips. “Ah, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for both of you! Mari has always preferred working the inn and you’ve always wanted to be a baker rather than a dressmaker. Ever since I can remember you’ve been cooking up some special cake or tartlet for the family.” A hand skims down to his now relatively flat belly as he confesses, “I must have lost 20 pounds after you left. At least I don’t have to keep letting out my pants anymore!”

Reaching up one hand, Yuuko dabs at her eyes, wiping away the rising tears and giving Yuuri a reassuring smile. “Pfft! It’s your own fault for eating so much of my baking.”

“Well, it’s your fault for making things so delicious that I couldn’t resist eating them!”

They chuckle at the familiar and familial banter, allowing it to ease the momentary awkwardness. The Katsuki’s trade is in happiness - sadness is not an emotion they are comfortable expressing.

There is a soft rapping on the door frame before one of the bakers pokes his head into the room apologetically. “I’m sorry, Yuuko, but management just asked me to find you. They say that they’re about to open the doors and they want you front and center. Also,” he adds sheepishly, “the eclairs are ready.”

With a soft huff, Yuuko slips off of the crate and dusts off her dress once more. “Alright, tell them I’ll be right out.”

“Thanks, Yuuko! You’re the best!”

 Turning to her brother, she reaches out, catching Yuuri’s hand, and puts on her determined face. “Listen. I don’t think it’s fine at all if it’s not what you want to do. It isn’t fair to put all that responsibility on you. I mean it, Yuuri. You deserve to be happy, and if running Katsuki Clothing doesn’t make you happy, then don’t do it. It doesn’t matter that it’s the family business. What you want matters too, you know.”

 Whatever expression crosses Yuuri’s face, Yuuko doesn’t like it and she moans theatrically. “Uhhhhhhhh! Fine, be a martyr to the cause. Just remember what I’ve said, okay? Look, they need me back at the counter. Feel free to stay and finish your lunch. I’ll get the cookies ready for you, so just swing by before you head out.”

 “Thanks, neechan. You’re the best.”

 “You’re damn right I am,” she snorts before shooting him a mischievous grin and a wave as she heads back to work.

 Yuuri sits back and just listens to the bustle and noise of the kitchen, enjoying the clang and clatter of pots and pans, the roar of the ovens and the call of voices as orders are placed and food is made. He takes his time, finishing his lunch before collecting both his and his sister’s plates, carrying them into the kitchen and placing them in the sink before slipping away.

 The bakery is packed and when he finally reaches the counter there are at least six men there all trying to get Yuuko to serve them personally. Yuuri snorts quietly and rolls his eyes, crossing over and waving to get her attention. He is instantly the focus of twelve angry eyes as Yuuko lifts up a gracious hand to let them know she’ll be back, only to turn her attention to him.

 Yuuri smirks and leans in, like he’s whispering sweet nothings into her ear. “It’s insane in here. When are they finally going to let you become a full time baker?” His sister can easily out-bake nearly everyone that works here, but they only have her baking halftime and the rest of the time she spends working the front counters.

 “Feh! Don’t get me started! Probably not until I’m old and ugly,” she grouses half-heartedly, as she reaches under the counter and pulls out a pale blue box tied with white string.

 “Well, I guess you can’t blame them. You probably make them more sales than anyone else on the staff..”

 “Pft. Don’t blame me because I’m beautiful.”

“And modest,” Yuuri retorts playfully. “Let’s not forget about that virtue.”

Shoving the box of cookies at him, Yuuko hmphs. “Go on, get out of here if you’re just going to stand there and insult me.”

 “Anything for my beautiful sister.”

 “Hmph.” However, she stands up on tiptoe to press an affectionate kiss to his cheek, ignoring the groans of her would-be suitors. “You take care of yourself now.”

 Lifting the box in silent thanks, Yuuri once again assures her, “I will, I will. Bye, Yu-chan!”

 With one final wave at the door, Yuuri turns to head back to the shop, this time taking the longer route through the busy streets of the city. He doesn’t dare risk the back alleys again. He has had quite enough of soldiers and wizards and unnatural things that chase wizards for one day. But as he walks he can’t quite make himself forget those dazzling blue eyes, so bright and clear, or the long flowing blond hair and elegant features. Already in his mind, he is pondering fabrics and cuts, designing a beautiful outfit for the beautiful man.  
  
  


**********

  
  


The day seems to fly by. As expected, the shop is flooded with customers once the parade is finished and Yuuri spends the entire day either helping models into gowns for displaying to eager patrons, or working on alterations for clothes that have been purchased so that they fit just right.

 Then there is dinner with the family, a boisterous affair in which his mother makes her famous katsudon, his sister Yuuko brings far too many sweets along with her husband, and where his father drinks too much and makes a fool of himself, dancing around the room with anyone who will let him. At the end of the night, he and Mari sit out on the porch and look at the stars, enjoying a comfortable silence while she smokes.

 Finally, Yuuri tumbles into bed, exhausted, fully expecting to fall dead asleep. But it’s no good. He keeps tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Just like those new Mutoscope devices, the events of the day keep flipping through Yuuri’s mind over and over again. It was surely the most exciting thing that he has ever experienced in his life and as such his brain is determined to ruminate and examine every moment of the experience in exquisite detail.

 Sleep. He needs to sleep. He has a long day ahead of him. But it’s no good. With an exasperated growl, Yuuri tosses off his bedclothes and drags a sweater over his sleepwear, pulling on a thick pair of socks before padding out of his room. Creeping down the stairs so as not to wake anyone, he bundles himself up and heads out in the night, making his way toward the shop. If he can’t sleep, he might as well work.

 Once there he heads to the workroom, stokes the fire to warm the space, and then turns to his dressmaker’s model. His mind is already remembering that outfit he started designing on his return trip from the bakery. Pulling out a piece of paper and pencil, he sits himself down at his drafting table and begins to sketch it out. It’s silly, really. He’ll probably never see that wizard again. And after that experience and the fact that Nikiforov is afoot, it’s honestly probably safer not to get involved with any wizard, wise or otherwise. As he witnessed today, magic can be as dangerous and frightening as it is useful and helpful.

 He gets up and pulls a bolt of fabric from the shelf when he hears the familiar chime of the shop door. Glancing over at the clock, he frowns. It’s late. Who on earth would be dropping into a dressmaker’s shop at this hour? Did he forgot to lock the door? With a frustrated sigh, he deposits the bolt on the table and he picks up his lantern, making his way quickly through the workshop, pausing for a moment before grabbing a poker from the fireplace. Just to be safe.

 Easing his way out, poker held at his side, Yuuri calls out, “Hello? Is someone there?” The dim light barely illuminates the room, but it’s enough for him to see a large dark form staring at a display of coats. How anyone could see them in this light, however, is beyond Yuuri. He ventures forward slowly.

 “I’m sorry but the shop has been closed for hours now. Can I help you?” There is no response, no reaction whatsoever. “Excuse me? Hello?” The massive figure doesn’t so much as move.

 It isn’t until Yuuri is quite close, that the figure spins around abruptly, causing Yuuri to take a fearful step back, the hand holding the poker rising up instinctively. The man before him shouldn’t look intimidating. Yes, he is tall and widely built, but his face is creased and lined. An old man, and generally old men are weak and frail. This man, however, is not. There is a sense of strength and power emanating from him, which is surprising in and of itself. But it is the eyes that frighten him. There is a darkness in them, a hunger and cruelty the like of which he has never seen before that causes Yuuri to shy away.

The man before him doesn’t mince words, his voice rough and gravelly. “Where is Viktor?”“I… who?”

 “Don’t fool with me, boy. My minions saw you with him, though why he would choose a plain nothing like you I cannot fathom. But no matter. You will tell me where he is.”

 A flame of anger sparks in Yuuri’s chest, his chin jutting out defiantly despite the fact that his hands are trembling. “I have no idea who you are talking about or what you are insinuating, but I know for a fact that I do not know anyone named Viktor!” Gesturing with the poker toward the front door of the shop, Yuuri gathers all of his courage and meets the gaze of the man before him just as steadily as he can. “I must ask you to leave now.”

 The man steps forward, his lips curling into a malicious smile. “You don’t, hmmmmm? Durachit’! Very well, let me assist you in becoming better acquainted then.”

 The long shadow that stretches out behind the man swivels and twists like a serpent, and before Yuuri can even take in what he is seeing, it slithers across the floor with deadly intent. Gasping, Yuuri lashes out with the poker as the shadow rises like a cobra and attacks, but the iron touches nothing but air. As the shadow overtakes him, a sharp pain radiates throughout his entire body, causing Yuuri to seize in anguish. The poker hits the floor with a muted thud as Yuuri likewise crumbles down to the carpet, gasping for air. From his position, lying on his side, he watches helplessly as the shadow oozes away from him, slowly departing to return to its appropriate position behind the man.

 “There. Tell Viktor that his uncle misses him. Very much. And, if you need a little incentive, consider this. There’s no one who can help you now except Viktor. Look for him in the Wastes. You can’t tell anyone about this curse and only he can break it.”

Yuuri trembles, his eyes flickering open and shut, watching dazedly as the figure of the man turns away, growing smaller and smaller as he heads toward the door, the bells tinkling cheerfully once more, before it closes behind him.

 With a soft groan, Yuuri closes his eyes, his body aching and sore from whatever just happened. Once he feels able to move again, he slowly sits upright and tries to stand, but he’s strangely weak. With a grunt he rolls to his hands and knees and that’s when he sees them. His hands. They’re gnarled and heavily veined. They’re not his hands.

 With a horrified cry he lurches backward, only for his spine to protest the harsh moment, pain radiating across the small of his back. What is happening? He struggles to get to his feet, his knees creaking with the effort. Hobbling over the the closest mirror, Yuuri peers into it fearfully before inhaling sharply.

 He’s… old! Terribly old! His face is deeply lined, his dark hair shot through with silver and grey, his posture bent. He stumbles backward, hands blindly reaching out for a chair before he sits down heavily upon it. Yuuri drops his face into this hands, staring at the floor in horror.

 A wizard. That was a wizard. Baka! Of course it was a wizard! But why? Why would a wizard come here? The words, the questions that were asked before come rushing back and with a sob of realization, Yuuri’s hands cover his mouth in horror. Oh God. Oh GOD! The man this afternoon, the _wizard!_ How could he have not made the connection? He must have been this Viktor!

Fear, confusion, and despair roll over Yuuri, his rough and battered hands covering his face as he cries and trembles. So stupid. How could he have been so _stupid_? What will he do now? Panic fills him and Yuuri can do nothing but let it have its way with him, ravaging his body with tremors and tears, his heart racing and his breath coming fast and desperate. He slips off of the chair, curling around himself on the floor, whimpering. But fear can only consume him up to a point, and while leaving it unchecked is pure torture, it does eventually fade, if for no other reason than his body simply cannot physically sustain it.

 Exhausted, Yuuri unwinds from his clenched position as sanity slowly filters back in.

_Focus on the facts._

 Fact: He has been cursed. Fact: He cannot stay here. If he stays, not only does he place his family at risk, but he will have no chance of reversing the curse. Fact: If he wishes to reverse the curse, he will have to go find a wizard. The one who cursed him said that only “Viktor” could lift it, but he has no reason to assume that is the truth. But there are no wizards in Chipping Market. No, he has no other choice than to head into the Waste to try and find the Wizard Viktor. He’ll just have to do his best to avoid Nikiforov and that’s not even taking into consideration the Wizard of the Waste. Yuuri can feel the anxiety rising again, clogging his throat with fear. Although the odds are much more in favor of worse than better, it would seem that going to the Waste is his only option.

He slowly gets up and looks at himself in the mirror one last time. “Well, I’m sure to sleep now. Maybe this is all a dream. A very bad dream. Maybe if I go to bed, I’ll wake up and everything will be fine.” Yuuri slowly makes his way out of the showroom and toward the stairs. There’s a cot in his workroom that he can lay down on and then hopefully all of this will be over. His bones creak as he climbs the stairs, murmuring a mantra under his breath to keep the terror at bay.

 “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream Everything will be fine. Just go to sleep and in the morning everything will be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and, if so, please consider leaving a kudos and/or a comment? They are a writer's bread, butter, _and_ jam! Both are wonderful, but comments are the best because then I can squeal and thank you in return! :D Your support gives me the energy and passion to keep writing!!  <3 <3 <3!
> 
> Many thanks to the fabulous TiggyMalvern for being my beta reader! You are the best and continue to save my bacon before a certain fire demon can eat it. ;-)
> 
> Translations:  
> mu’dak = asshole  
> otva`li = get out / fuck off
> 
> For those puzzled by the chapter title, there is a saying that goes, "The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach." >;D
> 
> If you're looking more YOI content, check out yoi-central on tumblr, where I post art, stories, recs, meta, and everything else YOI that catches my eye!


	4. The Prince and the Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so late! I had a family emergency situation that ate up all of my time and my braincells for over a month! But now I am back and chapters will be posted at a much more reasonable rate. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience! :D

The afternoon sunlight shines through the garden window of the house, casting long shadows. Viktor is sitting in the puddle that it makes on the floor, the golden rays warming his back pleasantly. His half-eaten lunch sits beside him, a sandwich made of bread and bacon, egg and cheese. He’s getting better at cooking. The bacon is a little burnt, but still tasty. He’s always preferred it crisp to soggy, just the way his mother used to make it. He smiles a little as he remembers the pancakes she used to make, the bacon curled on top to look like a smile, two dollops of butter for eyes. The memory doesn’t hurt like it used to.

They’ve only just recently moved from Hogweed to Kingsbury, the capital of Ingary, to facilitate Lilia’s new position as the King’s Witch. But Viktor is no stranger to change, which always brings with it a mix of good and bad. Ever since his aunt was selected by the King, Yakov and Lilia have been arguing and fighting as well as sleeping in separate bedrooms.

Viktor often wonders about his aunt and uncle. Even at his age, he can’t imagine there are two people more ill-suited for each other than Lilia and Yakov. They are as different in nature and temperament as they are in appearance and over the past three years their arguments have progressed from passionate debates to angry fights.

But on the up side, Viktor studies with Yakov exclusively now. Lilia’s new position keeps her too busy to tutor him and since Yakov was forced to give up his professorship position back in Hogweed, he has the time. While his uncle is now crankier than he used to be, his gruffness is nothing compared to the harsh glare and judgement of Aunt Lilia.

Viktor likes living in the capitol. The city is bigger than Hogweed and bustling with activity. When he’s not teaching Viktor, Yakov is busy with his own pursuits and looking for a new position. As such, Viktor is often left to his own devices, something that never would have happened if Lilia were home. He’s gotten adept at finding his own way around and taking care of himself. The new freedom is exhilarating. 

His nose wrinkles as he squints at the book currently open on his lap. Aunt Lilia said he wasn’t ready for these spells yet, but he knows that he can do them if he just concentrates really hard. There’s one in particular that he’s the most interested in. Flipping to the very back pages, he finds it and lets his fingers rove over the paper. The moving of the unmovable. He’s not sure he fully understands the difference between moving inanimate objects and the immovable, but he thinks it has something to do with comparative sizes and weights. After all, moving a teacup is a great deal easier than moving a house. Yakov has been tutoring him on this since they’ve arrived and it appears that Viktor has a knack for it. Already he can move a whole army of dishware and cutlery, much to Aunt Lilia’s disapproval. But inside he knows it’s not enough. He wants to learn how to do more!

Sadly, the combination of marks and incantations before him are beyond his current abilities and seem impossibly complicated. The book is also written in the most dreadfully archaic language. He can’t decide if the author is deliberately making the spell seem more difficult than it is, or if it truly is nearly impossible. With a frustrated huff, he closes the thick tome, the heft of it making a loud thud in the quiet of the study. He better put it back before Aunt Lilia comes home, or she’ll likely make him clean the laboratory again as punishment. Viktor shudders and assures himself silently that when he’s an adult, he’s  _ never _ going to clean anything  _ ever _ again. 

Rising up to his feet he tiptoes over to the shelf from whence he snuck the book out, but nearly drops it in surprise when his eyes catch sight of the clock resting on his uncle’s desk. It’s late! Well, not late per se, since it’s still afternoon, but it’s past the time Lilia comes home, and his aunt is  _ never _ late. Pushing the book into its rightful place, Viktor stares at it wistfully before pulling out the book of spells that he’s currently working on.

Engrossing himself on memorizing the chants and incantations there, Viktor slips into a haze of study, meticulously recording the information before him, his lips moving silently as he repeats the words written there without the breath to make them activate his magic. He doesn’t even realize that the door of the study has opened until a familiar voice calls out his name.

“Viktor.”

He jerks his head up, immediately closing and putting the book to the side before standing up, shoulders back like a soldier. Sometimes he feels like he should salute. Before him stands his aunt, but as always he greets her properly and concisely. She dislikes excess verbiage.

“Madame Baranovskya.” He asks no questions, but he can’t help but notice that his aunt is not alone. His gaze drops curiously to the young boy standing close to Lilia. Round of face, with a curly mop of golden hair that reminds Viktor of a field of sunflowers, the boy wears all black, his red-rimmed olive-green eyes staring at the ground with an emptiness in them that is all too familiar. Viktor lifts his gaze to Lilia expectantly.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, Aunt Lilia lays a hand upon the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it kindly. “Christophe, this is Viktor. Viktor, this is Christophe. Christophe will be staying with us for a while. His nanny will be arriving shortly, but until she arrives, he is your ward. I want you to take the very best care of him, make him feel comfortable and welcome. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Madame Baranovskya.”

“Very good.” She crouches down next to the young boy, one hand still on his shoulder, the other lifting his chin, waiting until he finally, reluctantly, lifts his eyes to hers. “Viktor will take good care of you, Christophe. If there is anything that you need, do not hesitate to ask. I know that this is very painful for you, but we will do everything in our power to make your stay here a pleasant and comforting one.”

The boy doesn’t answer, but his green eyes are brimming over with tears that have yet to fall, and his head bobs up and down in assent of her words.

Squeezing his shoulder again, Aunt Lilia stands once more, turning to Viktor. “I have to return to court. I know that I am leaving Christophe in capable hands.”

Viktor blinks. That might be the kindest thing his aunt has ever said to him. Immediately he bows his head. “I’m honored by your trust. I will not let you down.”

By the time he’s lifted his head, she is already halfway out the door, which shuts behind her with a decisive click.

Turning to the boy, Viktor ponders what to say. In light of his aunt’s respectful words and the boy’s attire, it’s obvious that he’s nobility and that he’s lost someone close to him. The former is beyond Viktor’s ken, but the latter is something that he can painfully relate to. The child’s hands are closed into fists, his eyes staring at the ground again as tears trail down his cheeks. Condolences, well wishes, these are not the things that one wants to hear at this time. At least he didn’t. They are meaningless and only serve to reinforce and remind one of the loss. Best to go with the practical.

“Are you hungry?”

The boy shakes his head.

Of course he isn’t. Wrong question. “Have you eaten?”

He thinks for a moment that Christophe will remain silent, but is surprised when he softly whispers, “I had some lunch.”

“That’s good. It’s important to eat, even when you don’t feel like it.”

Viktor picks up his book and settles himself into a plush chair, placing the collection of spells on his lap. “Do you like to be called Christophe?”

Again, there is hesitation before the soft voice replies, “Chris.”

“Okay, Chris. I’m Viktor, but you already knew that. Please make yourself comfortable. Let me know if there’s something you would like to do or if there is anything that you would me to get for you.”

Chris nods and after a long moment he makes his way over to a chair kitty-corner from Viktor’s, picking up a blanket and wrapping it around himself, as if somehow that could protect him from the outside world. Or, perhaps, help him keep all of his burgeoning emotions on the inside.

For a while Viktor says nothing, reading through the various spells and memorizing them, his gaze occasionally glancing up to the blonde boy. After nearly twenty minutes of silence he says, “I’m twelve. How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“Mmmm. When I was five I lost both of my parents.”

He keeps his gaze fixed upon the book, but he can hear a rustle of movement. “You did?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What happened?”

“They were in an accident. An overturned carriage.” He waits a moment before lifting his eyes, his gaze pinioning Christophe’s. “What happened to yours?”

The tears are still flowing freely, but the boy doesn’t turn away or hide from Viktor’s regard, or his question. “My mother. She died. She was going to have a baby, but something bad happened. Something really bad.” His eyes close as he shivers.

Viktor resists the urge to point out that at least Chris still has a father. That will be of little comfort and the child doesn’t need to have his loss compared to Viktor’s. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but I’ve been where you are, so I just want you to know that you don’t have to hide your feelings from me. I won’t mind if you cry or scream or want to smash things. You have every right to be sad, angry, scared, anything that you’re feeling. Aunt Lilia told me to take care of you, so that’s what I’ll do. If you have any questions, just ask me. Anything.”

Chris doesn’t open his eyes and his arms band around his small frame as if he were trying to hold all of his sorrow inside lest it crack him wide open. “Will it stop?”

“Will what stop?”

“Hurting?”

Viktor is not one to lie. “Not for a while. Possibly not ever. But it will hurt less.” He of all people knows this, the death of his parents still a scar he wears within his breast.

The boy is wound tight, his face scrunched up and turning red as his breathing hitches and stutters. Viktor studies him quietly for a moment longer before slipping out of his chair and walking over to him. Holding out his hand, he says, “Come with me.” It’s not a question, it’s an order, and by the boy’s reaction he’s not used to being given orders by some commoner.

Christophe frowns, a fist rubbing at his tears as he scowls down at Viktor. “Why?”

“Just come.”

Christophe wavers, torn between anger, sorrow, and curiosity. The latter finally wins and reaching out he takes Viktor’s hand, the blanket slowly unwinding from his frame as he slips out of the chair and stands up. “Where are we going?”

“Not far.”

Viktor leads Chris through the house, stopping him at the top of a flight of stairs just past the kitchen before telling him to wait. He isn’t gone long, just enough time for him to to go to his room to fetch his secret stash. He stares at the box before softly sighing. He hates to give it all up; he’s been collecting for awhile now. But Christophe needs it more. Besides, he can use his magic to nearly the same effect now. He heaves the box up into his arms, the weight of it causing him to totter from side to side for a moment before he carefully makes his way down the stairs, rejoining Chris by the stairwell.

The boy is still crying, but he looks more tired than sad. A step in the right direction. “Why are we standing at the top of the stairs?” he asks peevishly.

He isn’t surprised that the boy is confused. After all the stairs don’t seem to lead anywhere. At the bottom of them is nothing more than the cement wall of a hallway that opens to the left and the right.

A small secretive smile curls his lips as Viktor replies, “These aren’t any ordinary stairs. These are the Wishing Stairs.”

That catches his attention. Green eyes are wide now and blinking. “W-wishing stairs?”

Viktor nods. He reaches into the box and hands Christophe a chipped plate. “I want you to throw this as hard as you can down the stairs and when you do so, think of something you wish for. Something you want. Something to go away. Something to happen. Anything you want. Anything.”

Chris’s bottom lip wibbles as he takes the plate from Viktor, fresh tears sparkling in his eyes. He holds the plate over his head, trembling, and whispers, “I want my mama back.” The plate goes tumbling down the stairs. It’s a terrible throw, but gravity and hard stone do the necessary work, the plate shattering upon impact. 

Viktor hands Chris a broken teapot. “Louder. Harder.”

Chris’ tiny frame is still trembling, but Viktor recognizes the difference. It’s not fear, it’s anger. His voice is stronger this time as he lifts the teapot over his head with both hands and shouts, “I want my mama back!”

This time the teapot makes it all the way to the floor, exploding upon impact, shards of white porcelain scattering everywhere. 

Dish after dish, plate after plate, teacup after teacup, Viktor keeps handing them to Christophe, the boy reaching out for them eagerly, unable to stop himself. His face is bright red, snot running from his nose, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s screaming now, not even complete sentences, just calling out for his mother with every piece of china that he chucks down the stairs. His voice is hoarse and cracking, but despite the toll on his body, he keeps going until there is nothing left in the box. He turns to Viktor with a desperate look when nothing is placed in his hands and Viktor crouches down next to him and opens his arms.

With a terrible sob, Chris throws himself into Viktor’s arms and wails, small fists pounding against his back. Viktor just takes it, holding Christophe and accepting all of his despair and anger, his tears and fear. A tiny part of him is jealous. No one gave him this. He had to learn how to give it to himself. But in a weird way, he’s grateful for his loss, for the lessons he taught himself. No one could comfort him, but he can try to comfort this boy. 

It comes as no surprise when Christophe just sags against him, soft hiccuping sobs escaping him as he clings to Viktor. Carefully standing, Viktor slips his arms under the boy’s thighs, and when they wrap around him, he carries him upstairs to the guest bedroom. Seating him upon the bed, Viktor vanishes just long enough to get a soft flannel, soaking it in cold water before returning. He gently washes away the snot and tears, the cool water soothing the blotchy, red skin. He takes off Christophe’s shoes and jacket, strips him down to his undershirt and pants before pressing him back into the soft mattress and pillows, pulling a blanket over him.

All of this the boy lets him do willingly. Or, more likely, he is unable to protest, too weak from his emotional outburst. As his head hits the pillow, his eyes flicker shut, a soft helpless whimper escaping his lips as he falls asleep. Viktor sits beside him for awhile, making sure that he is truly under before he leaves, returning a few minutes later with a spell book under his arm and two glasses of water, one of which he places on the table beside Christophe’s head.

Pulling up a chair, Viktor takes a sip from his own glass before flipping the pages of his book. He sits and reads, waiting for the nanny to arrive, but ready for whatever might happen, should Christophe wake up.

 

**********

 

As promised, Christophe’s nanny arrives later that day and it doesn’t take Viktor long to figure out who the unexpected guest is. 

The first clue comes in the form of a letter from his aunt, informing him that lessons for the week have been cancelled and that both she and Yakov will be staying at the royal palace until further notice.

The second clue comes when he heads out the front door only to discover a soldier standing there at attention.

His suspicions are confirmed when he picks up a newspaper at the corner store, the headline bemoaning the loss of Ingary’s beloved Queen; the illustration on the front page that of the King, the Queen, and their son, the Heir Apparent, Christophe Giacometti.

The first two days are difficult. The house is strangely silent with both his aunt and uncle at the palace day and night. Neither the sharp rap of Lilia’s high heels or the heavy thud of Yakov’s boots mark the length of the hallways. Doors remain quietly shut, unless they’re being slammed in someone’s face, as Christophe spends nearly all of his time hiding alone in his room, refusing to talk to anyone. His nanny silently frets at her inability to comfort her ward, at a loss when nothing she does seems to draw him out. Viktor finds the silence oppressive. He would much prefer Christophe crying or breaking things than silently sitting in his room, staring at nothing.

It’s only at night, when he’s asleep, that Christophe truly mourns. Viktor can hear him through the wall, his voice piping up in the darkness as he dreams. They always end the same way, with sharp cries for his mother, the rustle of bedclothes, and then the heartbreaking sound of sobbing. 

One night, after the nanny has tucked Christophe in for the night and retired to her bedroom as well, Viktor heads downstairs to fix himself a late night snack. After all, there’s no one here to tell  _ him _ what he does or doesn’t have to do! He’s just put a pot on the stove to heat up some chocolate when he hears the kitchen door creak. Turning around he finds Christophe standing in the doorway, surprised. The boy is clearly exhausted, with huge shadows under his eyes, his face pale.

Frowning, Viktor turns down the heat of the stove. “You should be in bed.”

There’s a flash of fear in those eyes, but the young boy’s expression quickly turns to anger.  Christophe stomps his foot and snaps, “I will  _ not _ go to bed! You can’t make me! I’m the Crown Prince of Ingary! You’re just a… just a  _ peasant! _ ”

His first reaction is anger. Viktor is  _ not  _ a “peasant.” But he turns away to stir at the pot of chocolate, and bites his lip, waiting for the sting to fade. Most likely anyone who isn’t a member of the Court is a “peasant” in Chris’ opinion. Hell, by the prince’s standards he’s worse than that, he’s an  _ orphan _ peasant! Well, at least he isn’t a bastard on top of that, he muses to himself, the word now in his vocabulary after Lilia called Yakov one a few weeks ago. Still, as the nephew and apprentice of the King’s Wizard, he can’t help but think that he deserves a little more respect.

Viktor has been kind and he has been patient, but Christophe doesn’t need coddling. He needs a firm hand or else he’ll just run himself into the ground. 

He keeps his calm and his back to the prince. “You might be ‘your Majesty’ and ‘your Highness’ and the Prince of Ingary outside of this house, but inside this house? You’re just Christophe. You may be royalty, but right now I’m the one who is in charge here and, as such, you will do as I say. I was told to take care of you, and that means making sure you do things that you need to do, whether you like it or not.”

The small boy’s lower lip wibbles, his hands fisting as his face gets redder by the minute. “How dare you talk to me this way! My father… my father will chop your head off!”

Viktor’s temper flares again and he whirls around. The boy before him is angry but it’s more than that. He’s scared. Suddenly, it makes sense. Chris is afraid to go to sleep. No, that’s not it. He’s afraid he’ll dream. The only way not to have dreams is to stay awake. With the realization, the tension drains out of Viktor. This he can understand. There isn’t anything that Chris can do and everything is out of his control. So he needs this - to stay awake - because it’s one of the few things right now that he can control. Yelling at him isn’t going to help. Chris needs his help, not to be told yet again what to do.

Viktor has an idea. “How about I read you a story?”

“I’m not a child! I don’t need to be read a bedtime story!!”

“I never said it was a bedtime story.” He tilts his head and plays to Chris’ curiosity.  “I was thinking a fireside story?”

That catches the boy’s attention, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in suspicion. “A fireside story?”

Viktor nods. “Have you never been told a fireside story before?”

Christophe shakes his head.

“Well, then it’s high time you’ve been told one. Go sit at the table while I finish up here.”

Surprised and uncertain, the prince sits at the table and watches as Viktor finishes making the hot chocolate. Two steaming cups and a plate of cookies are placed on a tray before Viktor gestures with his head for the boy to follow him.

Christophe slips off the chair almost reluctantly before allowing Viktor to lead him out of the kitchen and into the living room. The fire in the hearth is nearly embers now, but it’s a simple enough thing for him to rejuvenate it with a few well placed pieces of kindling and a log. After setting down the tray, Viktor wanders about the room, collecting pillows and blankets and plopping them before the fireplace. Christophe’s folds his arms over his chest, silently rebelling by refusing to lie down on the pillows, but that doesn’t matter. They’re for later, when he’s too tired to resist any longer. For now, he indulges in the cocoa and cookies as he sits down in front of the crackling fire.

Once they’re settled in, Viktor sits before the prince and cocks his head, watching as the boy blows across the top of his mug.

“Are you ready?”

The boy nods. He still has a slightly mistrustful expression, but his attention is wholly pinned to Viktor’s face.

“Very well. Once upon a time there was a brave prince named Christophe Giacometti.” Viktor holds out his hand and with a little concentration a lick of fire springs up from his palm, causing the actual prince to gasp. The fire twists and bends, taking on the shape of a man, a crown upon his head and a sword held up high.

“To the north, he learned of a fearsome dragon that was terrorizing his kingdom. It was a dragon that was devouring the hearts of his people for its own twisted pleasure.” From the hearth comes a fearsome crack, the log there breaking in half. From its center emerges a fiery dragon, its head weaving through the smoke on a long and slender neck, wings fanning the flames, and its tail lashing against the ashes.

Christophe’s eyes are wide in amazement, his gaze flickering back and forth between the figure on Viktor’s palm and the dragon in the fireplace. 

“It was going to be a difficult journey, but the prince knew he had to go. There was no other choice. He refused to bring along his soldiers and instead sent them out to protect the villages while he rode off to fight the dragon by himself.”

“By himself? But why?”

“Because he believed that he had to defeat the dragon single-handed. He wasn’t willing to put anyone else in danger.” Lifting up his left hand, a blue spark ignites, the flame twisting and turning until it transforms into a glowing blue horse. “The prince mounted his favorite stallion, and away they flew.” At his words, the golden flame of the prince springs from one palm to the other before leaping upon the horse’s back, the steed rearing up, mane rippling through the air before galloping up along the length of Viktor’s arm. Twisting his hands and arms in different directions, Viktor’s magic causes the brave prince and his valiant steed to traverse through the mountains and valleys of his body, sometimes disappearing behind his back only to appear once again in the gap between his elbow and thigh, as if emerging from a cave.

“They traveled for three days and three nights before they came upon a tiger in the forest.” From a pillow in his lap, a creature is born of orange flame and flecked with black ash stripes. “When the tiger asked the prince where he was going, the prince told him the story of the terrible dragon. The tiger considered the problem and then said to the prince, “If you are going to face the dragon alone, then you must give your heart to me for safe keeping. If you have no heart, then the dragon cannot eat it.”

Chris looks horrified. “What?! No! Don’t trust the tiger! The tiger just wants to eat the prince’s heart!”

Viktor nods, the prince in his palm sitting with his legs dangling off Viktor’s hand, his chin resting upon his tiny hand in turn. “Indeed! The prince thought the same thing! But he realized that the tiger was right. And even if it meant losing his heart, the prince knew that it had to be done. It was the only way to save his people. So he gave his heart to the tiger.”

“No!”

But even as Christophe protests, it is too late. The tiny figure of fire reaches into his chest and draws out a tiny flame of the deepest red and gives it to the tiger. Upon doing so, the once golden flame pales to a wan shade of blue. “The tiger took the heart and disappeared into the forest and the prince mounted his horse once more to continue his journey.”

“For three more days and three more nights, they traveled,” Viktor’s words made manifest as the tiny horse and rider gallop around Viktor thrice. “On the next morning, they came across an old man in a barren wasteland.” A gust of air bursts from the fireplace, bringing with it a shower of ashes. As the ash sprinkles to the pillow it shifts and reforms into the figure of a stooped old man. “He stopped them on their journey, but despite his own desperate situation, he did not ask for help or assistance. Recognizing the prince for who he was, the old man asked what he could do for him instead. The prince thanked him, but said there was nothing he needed. But the old man shook his head and insisted on coming along and serving as the prince’s squire. He was old and as such he was not afraid of death, insisting that the prince could not go and fight the dragon by himself. Reluctantly the prince allowed the old man to come along.”

A pale blue arm reaches down, a grey ashen one reaching up as the prince aids the old man onto his horse, seating him at his back. The horse of indigo rears once more and dashes away. This time the horse travels over hardwood floors and cushioned seats, plush carpets and coffee tables. Christophe’s eyes follow it wherever it goes, his body twisting to and fro to keep up with the horse as it gallops from one end of the room to the other and back again.

“The prince discovered quickly that living without a heart was not an easy thing to do. At all hours of the day and night he was cold and without a heart he found that he couldn’t care about his horse, his quest, or even himself. Fortunately, the old man was very kind and took it upon himself to take care for the prince and his mount. He made sure they were fed, that they slept, and when the prince doubted his mission, the old man reminded him of his kingdom and the people he loved.”

“As they made their way through the forest, they came upon a sprite.” The log in the fireplace crackles and snaps, sparks fluttering into the air before one of them zips over toward the prince and his entourage. “The fairy was curious about the traveling pair and asked them many questions. When it heard that the prince was going to fight the dragon, it insisted upon coming along! But the prince claimed that he didn’t need the help of fairies to fight the dragon and shooed the sprite away.”

The pale blue prince waves at the spark dismissively, causing it to pop and disappear, much to Chris’ dismay. “What? No! He needs help! Can’t he see that?”

“He does indeed,” replies Viktor, “but even princes can make mistakes. However, the old man in his wisdom knew that they would need allies and while the prince and his mount slept, he crept into the forest until he found the sprite. He offered the sprite food and drink and asked him for his help against the dragon, which the sprite eagerly agreed to do. Handing the old man a ring, he said, ‘When you are in need, call, and I will come!’ And so the old man made his way back to the prince, the ring tucked away deep in his pocket.”

“When the sun rose, the prince mounted once more, for the mountain where the terrible dragon lived was now in sight.” Beside the fireplace, logs waiting to be burnt suddenly tumble to the floor, rolling around and flipping themselves up, end over end, until they form a pyramid. From within the hearth, the dragon of fire comes alive once again and leaps out, perching itself upon the mountain of logs majestically.

“As they drew close to the mountain, the prince told the old man to dismount. When the old man begged him to let him help, the prince replied coldly that he was only an old man and would just be in the way. And with that, the prince and his valiant steed rushed toward the terrible dragon!” The blue horse and rider dash up the mountain of logs to attack the dragon and a mighty battle begins, with sparks and flames dancing this way and that. 

Christophe’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, his whole body still as he watches, biting his lower lip. 

“Without a heart for him to devour, the dragon could not best the prince, but that didn’t matter. They fought a terrible fight and slowly but surely the prince found himself growing weaker and weaker. But little did the prince know that the old man had pulled out the ring from his pocket and put it on, calling out to the sprite. And instead of just one, there came a small army of sprites!” The log in the fireplace pops again, shooting out a flurry of sparks that all come rushing over and start attacking the dragon.

Chris can’t help but let out a whoop of excitement.

“The battle was fierce but in the end the prince and his fairy allies managed to destroy the dragon!” But even as the dragon fell, the prince was gravely injured and there was no magic that could heal his wounds.” The dragon, beset on all sides starts to break apart, but as it does so, it slashes its claws one last time, gouging a terrible wound through the prince’s pale figure. “The old man tried to climb the mountain to help the prince, but he was too weak, just as the prince had said.  But suddenly a tiger appeared before him. ‘You’ll need this,’ said the tiger and there, in the center of his paw, was the prince’s heart. The old man took the heart and climbed onto the tiger’s back and up the mountain they raced. Once at the summit, the old man pressed the heart in his hands against the prince’s chest and everyone cheered as the prince took a ragged breath and looked around. ‘My friends!’ he cried. ‘Thank you all for helping me defeat the dragon!’ And while they all cheered, he turned back to the old man, taking his hands. ‘And thank you, for making sure I didn’t have to face the dragon alone after all.’ And so it was that the prince returned to his castle a hero and the old man became his trusted advisor, ensuring that the prince’s rule would be long, just, and kind.”

With the end of the story, all of the characters turn to Christophe to take a bow before winking out of sight. The young boy grins, hands clapping, until he then turns to Viktor. The applause ends abruptly as he gasps and scrambles onto his hands and knees, crawling over and grabbing onto Viktor’s upper arms.

It takes a minute for Viktor to realize that he’s almost gasping for air, sweat pouring off his brow, and the room starts spinning. He was so engaged with the telling of the story and crafting the magic that he had lost himself in it, and now he is paying the price.

“Viktor? Viktor?!” Christophe supports him as Viktor started to slump over, leaning him back against a pillow before jumping to his feet. “Don’t move! I’ll be right back!”

The sound of running footsteps can be heard as Viktor’s eyes shut against the dizziness. Move? That certainly isn’t going to happen. He can’t even sit upright.

He feels his shoulder being squeezed at the same time as Christophe presses something cold into his hand. “Here, drink this.” Opening his eyes, Viktor stares stupidly down at the glass of water that his fingers are wrapped around. He hears an impatient huff before Chris’s hands wrap about his own, helping him lift the glass to his lips. 

He drinks the water down, a good quarter of it dribbling down his chin and across his chest. Pulling the glass away, Chris looks into Viktor’s face. “Are you okay? Are you feeling better?”

Viktor nods weakly. “Mmmmhmmm. Used too much magic. I’ll be fine, but I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh. Okay.” There is much bustling going on around him and the next thing Viktor knows he is surrounded by pillows and blankets. Chris tips him over and he readily flops into the makeshift bed, rubbing his face into the pillow beneath his head.

Now assured that Viktor is going to be alright, Christophe starts bubbling over enthusiastically.

“Oh my God, Viktor that was  _ amazing! _ You are a great wizard! When I become king, you are going to be my wizard for sure! I don’t want any stuffy witch or wizard like Madame Baranovskya working for me! I want a wizard who can do awesome things and tell stories and do magic stuff all the time! How did you do that?! Can you teach me how to do magic? That would be so cool! I could be the first King of Ingary that does magic! I would do magic all the time. How can you not do magic all the time?”

Christophe’s voice keeps excitedly chattering on, but the details of what he’s saying get less and less understandable as Viktor feels the exhaustion pulling him under. His lips can’t help but curl into a weary smile. Here he was, trying to get Christophe to fall asleep but he’s accomplished the exact opposite. The prince’s excited voice becomes more and more faint until it is nothing but a buzz of noise in his ears.

The next morning the nanny comes rushing down the stairs in a panic only to stop in surprise when she reaches the living room. There she find the two boys tangled up in a twisted nest of blankets and pillows, fast asleep and surrounded by dozens of drawings of a prince and his steed, an army of fairies, along with a tiger fighting a terrible dragon.

 

**********

 

After the firelight story, things change dramatically. Christophe starts following Viktor around everywhere and seems to find almost everything that he has to do fascinating. He insists on Viktor teaching him and showing him all sorts of strange things like magic and cooking and the oddest of all,  _ cleaning _ . Sometimes they spend hours together, just silently doing their own thing. Other times they play games, running around the house in a way that Lilia would never tolerate if she was in residence. Often they share stories, comparing what it is like to be raised to be a wizard versus being raised to be a prince.

Christophe is lying on the floor, paper and pastels before him as he draws, his knees bent upwards as he idly knocks his ankles together. Viktor is slouched in a chair, his head resting on one arm, long gold locks trailing over the edge. His knees are bent with his feet resting on the other arm, his body curled around a book that he is reading. If Lilia saw him sitting like this, she would twist his ear for a week.

The moment is quiet and peaceful, each boy engrossed in their own project until Christophe raises his olive green eyes to Viktor and pipes up unexpectedly.

“What’s it like?”

Frowning Viktor doesn’t even look away from what he’s reading. “What’s what like?”

“Having long hair.” Christophe’s nose wrinkles. “Only girls have long hair,” he points out definitively. The prince has spoken, and in Christophe’s mind, the prince is always right.

Snorting, Viktor still stares at the page before him. This doesn’t even deserve his attention. In a matter of fact voice he counters, “Am I a girl?”

There’s an awkward pause before Christophe is forced to agree with the obvious. “Well, no.”

“Then boys can have long hair too.”

There’s a huff of annoyance from the floor and Christophe bangs his shoes together, loudly this time before he rolls over and sits up, one hand resting on the carpet as he stares at Viktor intently. “Papa says that I can’t have long hair. He says it isn’t respt-respo-re-re…”

“Responsible?” Viktor offers, but Christophe shakes his head. “Respectable?” his is second suggestion.

“That’s the one. Respectable.”

“Well, there you go then. I generally don’t care about being respectable. Besides, there are different rules for wizards. Royalty has to be respectable but in general wizards and witches are expected to be different.”

“Different? Different how?”

“I dunno,” Viktor mutters with a shrug, his attention shifting back to the book before him. “Mysterious? Unusual? Weird? Something like that. Lilia says that a witch or wizard should be distinctive - that they should stand out from the crowd. Be unique and distinguished. So I get to wear whatever I like and keep my hair long.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it a lot of work? Doesn’t it get tangled up and stuff.”

Viktor lifts a finger and twirls it in the air blithely. “I do magic, remember? It’s a simple spell to keep my hair soft and sleek. I don’t even have to wash it or brush it.”

Christophe stares at Viktor in awe. “That’s so cool! I wish I didn’t have to take baths! You are so lucky!”

Viktor chuckles, his shoulders shrugging nonchalantly. “What can I say? Being a wizard beats being a prince any day.”

“Nu-uh! As a wizard you have to obey the King! I might be a prince now, but someday I’m going to be the King and then you’re going to have to do what I tell you or I can chop your head off!”

Viktor turns another page with a giggle. “You really have a thing for cutting heads off. I better start practicing my reattach-chopped-off-head spells now.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Christophe asks in quiet awe, “You can do that?”

Turning his head, Viktor stares at Christophe’s face, the boy’s eyes wide in astonishment. He nods his head yes, but reaches back for a pillow as he replies, “No,” right before he throws the pillow at Christophe’s head.

Naturally, this means war. Viktor’s book falls to the floor with a soft thud as suddenly the two of them are in a pillow fight, grabbing anything and everything soft that they can find and chucking it at one another, giggling like mad.

In the end they are both lying on the floor, breathless, but while Viktor is still laughing, Christophe has gone suddenly silent before asking quietly, “What’s it like?”

Caught up in his own mirth, Viktor misses the sudden somber tone of the prince’s voice, asking between giggles, “What’s what like?”

“Not having a mother.”

Instantly he stops laughing and blinks, turning to consider Christophe seriously. Christophe hasn’t even mentioned his mother since the first day he was here, so the question is both worrisome and surprising. He takes a moment to think about his answer, worried that the wrong words could send the prince spiralling back into those early days of despair. 

“It was really hard,” he answers honestly. “But then, I didn’t have any other close family and no one wanted me. You won’t have that problem. After all, as you constantly like to remind me, you’re the crown prince of Ingary.” His does his best to keep his voice light and teasing. A ghost of a smile touches Chris’ lips, but the heir to the throne will not be derailed.

“So, is Madame Baranovskya your mother now?” He tries to hide it, but the hint of horror echoes throughout Chris’ innocent question.

Viktor barks out a laugh of relief and amusement, startling the boy. “Ahhhh, no. She’s my aunt.” His nose wrinkles as he ponders the very idea of Lilia adopting him before he shakes his head. “Yakov is my uncle and Lilia is his wife. When I asked him if she was going to be my mother he just laughed and said that she’s not what one might call the “mothering” type.”

“She’s your aunt, but you call her Madame Baranovskya?” By his expression, the prince finds this very confusing. “What type of person is she then?”

“She insisted on the title. I don’t think she cares for the idea of being anyone’s aunt.” Viktor ponders the second question for a moment before sagely replying, “She’s the dragon type.”

Chris laughs and sits up abruptly, flinging his arms into the air. “Yes! Yes, she  _ is _ like a dragon!” He crosses his legs and then leans forward, whispering softly, “She scares me. She always looks so angry. When she said I was staying here instead of at the palace I was terrified.”

Viktor sits up as well, grateful that the topic of conversation has changed. Tossing his hair over one shoulder, he twists his mouth thoughtfully and shrugs. “She’s not good with kids. She doesn’t have a lot of patience. But she’s not a bad person. I know that she cares about me in her own weird way, just as Yakov does.”

Frowning, Christophe lightly rocks back and forth in place. “How do you know that?”

Viktor hums thoughtfully. “Well, it’s kinda weird. Yakov had to explain it to me. He says that she’s hard on me  _ because _ she loves me.”

The motion stops as Christophe shakes his head. “What? But that doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know, right? It was really hard at first. She was always criticizing me and she made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right. But Yakov told me that Lilia was a refugee during the war with Strangia, when she was just a little girl. She lost her parents too, like I did, and she didn’t have anyone who could take her in. She was put into an orphanage and life was really hard with food rationing and so many orphaned children. Yakov says that if it wasn’t for her magic, she might never have gotten out of there. So she’s hard on me because she wants to make sure that I’m ready for whatever the world might throw at me. She wants me to be tough, to be able to take care of myself, so I don’t have to go through what she did. She wants me to have a better life than she did - to grow up strong and to be the best wizard that I can be.”

“Wow.” Christophe stares, thinking, before his olive eyes meet Viktor’s blue ones. “She’s still super scary! I’m glad she’s just the King’s Witch and not  _ my _ aunt!”

Viktor nods. “I’ve gotten used to her, but it was tough for awhile. You got your dad and a whole court of people who will be looking after you, though. It’s still going to be hard. No one can replace your mom. But it will get easier. And who knows? Your father might remarry in a few years. You might get a new mom.”

As soon as the words pass his lips, Viktor regrets them. Instantly Chris’ face falls and his body tenses.

“I don’t want a new mom! I want my  _ old _ mom.” His eyes are suddenly overbright with unshed tears. Before they start to fall, Chris leaps up to his feet and stomps out of the room, running up the stairs. In an instant, Viktor feels the world’s biggest idiot. Why did he say that? Tears prick his own eyes and lifting up a sleeve, Viktor scrubs at his face hard to banish them. It seems it doesn’t matter how hard Lilia tries to make Viktor grow up; he’s still just a stupid child, making stupid mistakes.  
  
  


**********

 

The next few days are harder, between Viktor’s mistake and the Queen’s funeral. They attend the proceeding together, literally side by side since Aunt Livia is the King’s Witch and, as such, stands with the royal family. Dressed all in black, Christophe holds his head high as his father told him to and refuses to cry. But as soon as the service begins, his hand finds Viktor’s and squeezes it so hard that Viktor is sure that his fingers will never regain the sense of touch. Regardless, Viktor holds Christophe’s hand tightly too. And if he murmurs a soft spell of comfort under his breath, well either no one notices or begrudges him the effort.

A day later, no one is more surprised than Viktor himself when the nanny finished packing all of the prince’s belonging and came to find him in the living room. Despite knowing that he was returning to the palace today, Christophe had done nothing to prepare for the move. He simply sat himself down next to Viktor, watching him intently as he practiced his magic.

With his bag held before her, the nanny calls out gently. “Christophe, it’s time to go.”

The prince doesn’t so much as bat an eye or move a muscle as he replies, “No.”

The nanny blinks in surprise, looking toward where Lilia is standing as well to bid the prince farewell. Clearly her throat, the nanny tries once more. “Christophe, please. Your father wants you home.”

Reaching out, Chris takes one of Viktor’s hands, holding onto it fiercely. “Not without Viktor!”

The nanny and Livia exchange a bewildered look before Livia takes a step forward. Viktor can feel Chris shiver a little and lean away from her approach, even though his aunt’s voice is unusually gentle. For her at least. “Your Highness, Viktor cannot live at the palace.”

There is a small sniffle and turning to Chris, Viktor is shocked to see his eyes bright with unshed tears. But he sits up straight, his body strident and insistent. “Why not? There are plenty of rooms! My father would happily give one to Viktor if I asked him to!” He is literally clutching onto Viktor now. 

Viktor says nothing, knowing that he has no say in the matter, but he turns his gaze to his aunt curiously. 

“That may be, but Viktor lives here and he has duties and responsibilities, just as you do.” Lilia studies the prince impassively, emerald eyes flicking over to Viktor before returning to Christophe. “However, if you like, I can bring him with me to the palace for a visit on days when he has no other obligations. Will that be adequate?”

There’s a moment where it looks like Chris is going to protest her counter offer, but Viktor squeezes his hand gently, the prince’s eyes turning to him. Nodding slowly, Viktor tries to convey with this eyes that this is likely the best deal that Chris is going to get out of Aunt Lilia.

After a long moment, Chris turns his eyes back and lets go of Viktor’s hand, walking over to Lilia and studying her seriously. “Do you promise? Do you promise to bring Viktor to the castle to visit?” Despite his fear of the King’s Witch, Christophe holds his ground, his chin lifting high, even if his bottom lip wobbles nervously.

With a sigh of taxed patience, Aunt Lilia replies, “Yes, your Highness, I promise to bring Viktor to the palace as often as possible.“

Christophe’s eyes widen in surprise and delight. “Thank you, Madame Baranovskya!” Rushing over to Viktor, Chris throws his arms around him and hugs him tightly. “You’ll come, won’t you Viktor?”

Laughing, relief percolating through his body like fizzy water, Viktor hugs Chris back. “Of course!”

“Cause we’re best friends now, right?”

Drawing back, Viktor looks at Chris in surprise. “Best friends? You want to be best friends… with me?”

“Yes! Of course I want to be best friends with you!” Suddenly an expression of doubt and worry comes over Christophe’s face. “U-unless, you don’t want to be friends with me?”

Viktor has never had a best friend. Always schooled at home, with duties and chores nearly every hour of every day, he hasn’t had the time or the opportunity to make many friends, and those that he do he keeps moving away from. And here, Christophe, the Crown Prince of Ingary wants to be his best friend.

“Wow! Of course I want to be best friends!” Surging forward, Viktor hugs Chris again, the two of them laughing in delight.

They are allowed a minute of self-congratulation and celebration before Aunt Lilia’s voice brings them back to the situation at hand. “Alright, that’s enough you two. Your Majesty, if you please, your carriage is waiting outside to take you back to the palace.”

Christophe lets go of Viktor reluctantly, one hand still clinging to Viktor’s, squeezing it tightly.

“See you soon, Viktor.”

Viktor's gaze flickers over to where his aunt stands close by, one foot tapping impatiently. He opts for formality in light of her presence. “Goodbye, your Majesty.”

Shaking his head, the prince corrects Viktor with a small but fierce scowl. “Nu-uh. We’re best friends, and best friends use first names.”

“You’re right,” Viktor replies, a smile curling his lips.

"Of course I'm right. I'm the prince!"

Viktor can't help but laugh at the contradiction, but stepping forward, he gives his new friend one last hug, murmuring in his ear, so Aunt Lilia won't box his later, “I’ll see you again soon, Chris.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and, if so, please consider leaving a kudos and/or a comment? They are a writer's bread, butter, _and_ jam! Both are wonderful, with comments being the best because then I can squeal and thank you in return! :D Your support gives me the energy and passion to keep writing!!  <3 <3 <3!
> 
> Many thanks to the fabulous TiggyMalvern for being my beta reader! You are the best and continue to save my bacon before a certain fire demon can eat it. ;-)
> 
> If you're looking more YOI content, check out yoi-central on tumblr, where I post art, stories, recs, meta, and everything else YOI that catches my eye!


	5. The Waste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! This was later than planned due to the letter D (depression), A (apathy) and the number 24 ! (the hours I spent sleeping each day) 
> 
> Heh heh heh, sorry! *^_^*

Last night was definitely not a dream and everything is not fine.

Every morning Yuuri looks at himself in the mirror with disappointment at the body before him and the face that looks back at him. Now he would give anything to see his old self rather than this  _ old _ self reflected back at him. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep calming breath before opening them again. Nope, still old. 

Outside it’s pitch black. Turning his head, Yuuri pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and peers at the clock ticking on the far wall, a sense of relief flooding him when it comes into focus. At least his eyes haven’t gotten worse as well. He determines that if he hurries, he can make it back to the inn to pack up his things before anyone is awake for the day. That seems the best solution. Avoid seeing anyone, leave a letter so they won’t worry, even though he knows that they will. What else can he do?

Each of his joints seem to creak as loudly as the steps of the back staircase, but with the shop empty for the night, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone noticing. Bundling himself up, Yuuri takes one last look around the shop interior before turning and leaving it behind him.

Thank goodness the trolleys start their runs early, and at this hour there are only a few people on them getting to their pre-dawn employment. Reaching his stop, Yuuri slowly makes his way down the steps, embarrassed when a young man asks him if he needs any help, waving him off graciously. When he finally reaches Yutopia he needs to sit down for a moment on a bench outside to catch his breath. 

The sky is only just beginning to lighten, the midnight blue shifting to indigo, and for a moment Yuuri rests and gathers his thoughts, making a mental list of everything that he is going to need for his journey to the Wastes. 

Rising to his feet, Yuuri uses his key to open the front door, slipping off his shoes before making his way to his room upstairs. Fortunately the stairs here are solid and quiet and it doesn’t take him long to pack a few clothes. He listens intently before stepping out of his room and heading back downstairs and into the kitchen. He gathers up everything he can think of - a lantern, a warm cloak to wear over his coat, a bottle of water, and as much hardy food as he can find. He’s pulling a sharp knife out of a drawer when a sardonic voice out of nowhere startles him.

“Excuse me, but can I help you?”

Yuuri lets out an undignified squeak, the knife dropping to the floor with a clatter. He turns around, hand on his chest, his heart slamming against his palm. “Mari-neesan, you scared me!” His eyes open wide, a hand clapping over his mouth as his sister walks toward him, her expression hostile and suspicious.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

Yuuri fidgets, torn between making up some story or telling the truth. Except that he can’t tell her the whole truth. The curse won’t let him.

But the choice is taken away from him as Mari’s eyes widen, her hands lifting to grip his shoulders as she leans in, her gaze boring into his before she opens her mouth in astonishment. “Y-Yuuri? Yuuri, is that you?”

He feels his cheeks flush, but he can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod awkwardly.

Her expression changes from second to second, from shock to horror to confusion to fear. “What? How, how did this-?” Then comprehension dawns and Mari’s eyes flare with righteous anger as she hisses, “That  _ bastard!  _ It was that wizard, wasn’t it? The one that you met yesterday? The one Yuuko was telling us about after dinner?”

“Yes. Well, no...” Drawing his fingers together in front of himself, Yuuri fidgets as he stares down at them. “It’s complicated.” And isn’t that an understatement?

Turning her head, Mari takes in the bundles and supplies, her face tightening along with her grip. “You’re running away.”

Shaking his head, Yuuri corrects, “Not running away. Going to find a solution.” His lips quirk into a pained smile as he looks down at himself. “There is definitely no running in this body.”

Mari’s makes a sound that is somewhere between a choked off laugh and a sob, the sound short and broken as she drags Yuuri into a desperate hug. “You don’t have to go anywhere. Stay Yuuri, we’ll find a solution. Find another wizard to fix this. It’ll be alright.”

It’s so tempting, to sink into his older sister’s embrace, to give all of this up to her, to his family, to have them take care of him, comfort him.

But he can’t.

His weathered hands lift to catch her elbows, squeezing them as he pulls away from her embrace, meeting her tearful gaze. “No, Mari. I have to do this. I can’t risk you, or Yuuko, or okaasan and otousan. This isn’t something that can be fixed by staying in Market Chipping. This is something I’m going to have to do on my own. I can’t explain why, but it is.” 

Mari stares down at her brother in surprise, the desire to question him, to challenge his assertions battling for dominance before she acqueices with a nod and releases her grip. Reaching up with one hand to wipe at her tears, she straightens and meets his gaze steadily, ready to support him in whatever way she can. “Alright. What do you need?”

Yuuri smiles up at his sister gratefully before turning around to consider all that he has gathered together. “I think this is enough. I don’t want to take too much. I don’t think I can handle the weight.” Mari bites her lip before holding up a hand to stay her brother from moving. Hurrying off, she’s only gone for a few short moments before she returns, pressing money into Yuuri’s hands.

“Neesan, no! I couldn’t!” He opens his hands and his eyes go wide in shock at the amount his sister has given him. Instantly he tries to press it back on her, but Mari folds her arms and glares down at him.

“Nonsense. Now, you listen to me, Katsuki Yuuri. I don’t know where you’re going, but wherever it is, you’re going to need money to pay for food, lodging, transportation and heaven knows what else. The inn is doing well, and the I know that the shop is too. So don’t worry, just take it.” Before he can begin to protest again, she gives him a wry smile and counters, “If you have to, consider it an advance on your salary. That way you  _ have _ to come back home to pay it off.”

There is a brief moment where they both consider the possibility that something might go terribly wrong, that Yuuri might not succeed on his quest. Even barring the dangers of seeking out wizards, Yuuri could die simply from old age before he manages to find someone who can help him. An uncomfortable tension fills the air until Mari breaks it by lunging forward, hugging her brother fiercely. Yuuri lets out a soft sound of protest as his old bones creak from the strength of her arms.

“Promise me you’ll come home. Promise me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri can’t make that promise. He has no idea what lies in store for him. But he lies for his sister, because what else can he do? 

“I promise.”

 

**********

 

The journey to the Wastes is an adventure in itself as Yuuri makes his way through town by traveling first on the trolley, then the train, and finally, upon reaching the outskirts of Chipping Market, finding a farmer heading out toward the fields in a massive cart heavily laden with hay. Yuuri rides on the back, swaying side to side as he watches his hometown fade out of sight. Before the cart turns down into the next valley, the farmer draws to a stop to let Yuuri off, giving him a worried look.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri replies before heading up the hill toward the Wastes.

This part of his journey is decidedly less pleasant than the former. His body begins complaining right away. His knees crack and click with each rising step, and soon there is a steady burning sensation in his thighs. And, of course, it isn’t long before his back begins to ache and throb as well. With a sigh he turns around to see how far he’s come, his eyes widening as Market Chipping comes into sight again, barely any smaller than it was when he lost sight of it over a hill.

“At this rate, it will take me the rest of my life to reach the Wastes,” he mutters crossly to himself, trying not to think about that possibility too hard.

Seating himself on a large boulder, Yuuri pulls free the bundle he packed that morning. It’s all simple things - some bread and cheese, cured meat, some dried fruit, but nothing fresh, alas. The lingering winter has put a frost over anything that might even think of growing as spring has been put on hold. He eats sparingly, uncertain of how long he might have to wander the Wastes before he finds someone who can help him. He needs to find a balance between eating enough to sustain himself and not so much that he runs out of food before he’s found a way to replenish it. Casting a doubtful look up the mountain, Yuuri sighs, noticing how his breath clouds upon the air. The further up he goes, the colder it gets and the snow which was light on the ground at first is getting thicker.

Casting his gaze down to his hometown, Yuuri frowns. “I’m too slow. How am I ever going to make it to where the wizards are?” As much as he would like to stay right where he is, he knows that he needs to get moving again. Rising to his feet, Yuuri slowly stretches out his back, wincing as he hears and feels his spine pop in protest. “Uhhhh, being old is the  _ worst. _ I had no idea a body could hurt this much!” His eyes scan his surroundings in the hopes of finding some kind of walking stick.

A field of corn stretches out to his left, the stalks bare and covered by a thin layer of snow, but there is something that catches Yuuri’s attention. A murder of crows seem to have found something that interests them, their wings flapping as they fight over it. Frowning, Yuuri heads toward them without really knowing why and as he draws closer, he espies what they are making sport of.

It’s a scarecrow. Which is ironic, really, since it clearly isn’t scaring the crows at all. That’s just not right. Affronted on the part of the poor hapless scarecrow, Yuuri heads toward them, waving his arms and shouting, “Shoo! Shoo! You’ve had your fun, now leave him alone!”

The crows scatter as he draws closer, cawing out their displeasure at having their play spoiled. Yuuri looks down at the poor bundle of poorly put together clothes, sticks, and straw, tsking under his breath. “Well, they did quite the number on you, didn’t they? Come on then, I’ll fix you up.” He picks up the scarecrow, which sadly lolls sideways on its stick. “You’re not going to frighten anyone like this.” Returning to his rock, Yuuri settles himself down again and pulls out his sewing kit.

With the same intense focus that he gives every project at hand, Yuuri sets about repairing the scarecrow. He re-binds the sticks for arms to the center pole and resettles the white and yellow gourd that stands for the scarecrow’s head. Sadly he clucks at the beak marks marring its brow. “Bad enough they had to pick you apart, but did they have to try to eat your head as well? Those birds have no respect.” He carefully puts the hat back on, tilting it at a jaunty angle to hide the damage before pinning it carefully in place. “There, that’s better.”

The clothes are next. He stitches up the holes and frayed edges, smartening up the shabby outfit as best as he can with the materials at hand before re-stuffing it with the straw that had spilled from its belly. Once he finishes he give the scarecrow a careful study before nodding. “Right, I think you’re good now. Those crows are going to seriously reconsider messing with you.”

It was stupid really, to have spent so much time fixing a scarecrow that more likely than not will just get torn apart again. He should have been looking for a walking stick. He should have been heading into the Wastes instead of wasting his time working on a pet project. But he feels better for having done the work, more settled and relaxed. He carries the scarecrow to the cornfield, pressing him back into the frozen hole from whence he had been previously plucked before giving him a pat on the butt.

“You’re just lucky you’re too tall to use as a walking stick, otherwise I might just have joined the crows in scavenging you.” The stick sways slightly in the wind, twisting away from Yuuri as if offended by his words. Laughing Yuuri pats its butt again - the only substantial bit of it he can reach now - before reassuring it. “I’m just teasing you. I wouldn’t have stolen your pole.”

Cracking his back once more, Yuuri sighs and stares dolefully up the hill to where the air is growing thick with mist and fog - a sign that he is nearing the border of the Wastes. “Right. Well, back to it.”

Yuuri doggedly climbs, taking the occasional rest to ease the pain in his legs and back, or just to drink a little water and catch his breath. It’s been hours, but he still feels like he’s barely made any progress. The sun is dropping low in the sky, turning it a glorious mix of lavenders and purples, shot through with streaks of pink and causing the clouds in front to glow a vibrant orange. The shadows are lengthening and Yuuri knows that he needs to find some kind of shelter for the night, his eyes casting across the barren landscape without hope and then, after a moment, with a growling sense of dread.

His eyes narrow as he turns his gaze back toward something that caught his eye. He could have sworn that he saw something move. And then, he sees it. Shadows are supposed to lengthen at this time of day, but not so fast that he can actually watch them grow.  Such is the manner of one particular shadow, which stretches when none of the others do. Swallowing hard, Yuuri backs up a few steps as the shadow changes direction and slithers slowly up the hill in Yuuri’s direction. It doesn’t rise from the ground, but Yuuri recognizes its shape, even if it isn’t fully fledged and shambling toward him in a blob-like form.

Fear runs through his system. What is it doing here? What could it possibly want? That wizard from the shop has already cursed him, so why is one of its hench-things following him? It comes to a stop, as if realizing that Yuuri isn’t moving. With a roll of his eyes Yuuri yells at it.

“You’re not very good at this, are you? You do realize that I can see you, don’t you?”

The shadow quivers and the tip of it rises off the ground, as if staring at Yuuri to make sure that it’s being the one being addressed by its quarry.

Yuuri takes a deep breath and yells, “What do you want?!” Sometimes courage is just cowardice that has no other option. 

Frowning, Yuuri casts his mind back to what the wizard said, trying to remember his exact words. The whole thing had been so strange and frightening, not to mention confusing, that even at the time the words were spoken, they made no sense to Yuuri. He said that Yuuri couldn’t tell anyone about his curse, and he knows that much is true already. He intimated that the wizard Yuuri met that day was named Viktor, and that only Viktor could lift the curse. And these things were chasing after Viktor, which can only mean...

Frowning he stamps his foot. “Oh no! Oh no you don’t! I’m not helping your master by leading you to Viktor! I mean, first of all, I have no way of finding him, but still, that doesn’t matter. I’m not helping you or your master. Not after he cursed me. So you can, you can just… piss off!”

In truth, Yuuri would like to say something much nastier, but even that mild epithet doesn’t come to him easily. He doesn’t really know what to expect. Viktor clearly felt they were dangerous enough that he had to flee from them, but then he was their target, and there were many of them. This one is alone and so far has been practically timid. Maybe it will go away now that it’s been spotted and scolded.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri decides to test the matter. He turns around and starts back up the hillside. After a few steps he turns around to look, but the shadow is gone. What a relief!

Yuuri starts to make his way up once more when suddenly something slams into his back, causing him to cry out in shock. He pivots around to see what hit him, but nothing is there. No, wait, something is on his back! With a yelp, Yuuri tries to reach behind himself to pull whatever it is off. His gnarled fingers touch something sticky and pulling his hand away he yelps at the sight of what looks like thick black tar stretching from his fingers to his back. He twists and turns, trying to rid himself of the horrible thing, feeling it slither down the length of his body, pooling and filling the length of his shadow.

Panicked, Yuuri tries to stomp on it, but it always twists away from his feet, pulling his shadow into directions that are impossible. It’s nearly complete, his new shadow filling out rapidly, the thing clinging to his calves, slithering down his ankles, filling Yuuri with a sense of despair.

Suddenly there is a motion behind Yuuri and the sharp sound of something hitting the ground before he can even turn to look. With a yelp he runs a few steps forward before he trips and falls to his hands and knees. 

The terrible slimy feeling is gone. He twists until he is seated upon the ground, looking back up the hill, and his mouth opens in astonishment. Yuuri’s shadow stretches out to one side as it should, and the thing that tried to take his shadow has been pinned to the ground by the scarecrow?

The wind whips at its clothes, making them fly about as if the scarecrow was enraged. The pole twists viciously as it pins and grinds the shadow servant into the ground, holding it in place. It twirls toward Yuuri, the head tipping down as if it was looking at him, and it stops moving.

Yuuri stares at it in confusion before slowly getting up to his feet. The shadow writhes, as if in agony, but is unable to escape from where it has been impaled. Yuuri limps his way over to the thing, being careful to keep both himself and his shadow well away from it. Looking up at the scarecrow, Yuuri asks anxiously, “Now what?”

The scarecrow jumps up and stomps down on the shadow, fast enough that the wizard’s minion can’t escape, though it tries.

Yuuri’s expression clears and with a sense of certainty he looks around himself for the proper tools. It only takes a few minutes before he finds a solid stick and a rock that fits in the palm of his hand. Carefully he moves around the thing, before kneeling down next to it. The scarecrow turns with him and when Yuuri lifts his gaze questioningly, the head bobbles forward and back. Fisting his hands, Yuuri takes a deep breath, his expression turning fierce with determination as he looks back down at the shadow. He places the stick over the shadow and lifting the rock up high he hammers it down over and over again, driving the wood through the shadow into the ground.

It writhes as if in agony, lashing about desperately, but unable to escape from where it is pinned. The thing spasms as if in its death throes, and perhaps that is indeed what is happening, for after jerking a few more times it stills before sinking into the earth, as if it were ink rather than oil, staining the ground instead of flowing over its surface. Yuuri kneels there, uncertain and afraid before lifting his brown eyes to the simple button ones of his savior. 

“Is it dead?”

The gourd bobbles forward and back again.

With that, all of Yuuri’s energy disappears. He drops the rock and his hands come to rest upon the ground, his body trembling from the adrenaline still rushing through his system. Wrapping his arms about himself, Yuuri closes his eyes and starts rocking against the panic attack that is overtaking him. He isn’t surprised by it, but the timing is less than ideal. He does his best to control it, taking slow, deep breaths and reminding himself over and over again that the thing is gone now. Dead. It can’t hurt him anymore.

_ But there’s so much more in this world that can, apparently... _

He barely registers the tap tap tap of the scarecrow’s pole hopping away. But a few minutes later, he can’t help but notice when his sack is unceremoniously dropped into his lap and then, after an additional brief moment, a walking stick.

Instantly, Yuuri is snapped out of his fugue, staring in confusion at the bag that he brought with him and the cane he did not. Lifting his eyes up to the scarecrow, Yuuri feels them filling up with tears, even as he feels his lips curling into a weak smile.

“Thank you. You saved me, didn’t you? Thank you so much.”

Using his newly acquired stick, Yuuri slowly regains his feet, charmed by the fact that the scarecrow draws even closer, offering his pole for Yuuri to use should he need more support. 

Wiping the tears from his face upon his sleeve, he murmurs, “I guess we’re even now, huh? I saved you from those crows and you saved me from that… thing.”

The pole jumps up and down enthusiastically. The scarecrow’s only method of communication seems to be hopping and bobbing its head, but that’s something at least. Yuuri starts once more to slowly hobble up the hill, his new found friend keeping pace with him. It seems rude to just walk and not talk, even though he knows it will be a one-sided conversation. But he knows what it’s like to be alone. Even if they aren’t talking to him, he enjoys listening to other people talking, excitedly telling each other stories, pretending that they’re telling them to him. Listening is underrated.

“So, since you’re clearly alive I’m guessing that you have a curse on you, huh? Or maybe you’re a witch or wizard’s assistant?” Yuuri keeps looking ahead, rather than looking over to see if there’s some reaction to his musing. He has no need for confirmation either way. The scarecrow saved his life. He’s going to trust that if it is working for someone else, that it means him no harm. His nervous system can’t take even the idea that his new found friend might in fact be an enemy too. He’d probably have a heart attack if he considered it any further.

“I have to say, I’ve had my fill of curses for a lifetime, so I hope you’re not cursed. And if you are, then I hope you find a cure for it soon. Or a reversal? I have no idea what the opposite of a curse is. A blessing I suppose. But is a blessing like an anti-curse? Or is a blessing just a blessing and a curse just a curse?”

The snow is getting deeper, the air is getting colder, and the sky is getting darker. Yuuri is running out of time. He stops. It takes a few hops before the scarecrow realizes this and turns around, the gourd tipping forward to look at Yuuri.

“Um, listen. I know you’ve already done so much for me, but can I ask you for one more favor, since you’re so much faster than I am? Do you think you could try to find me a place to stay for the night before it gets too dark and cold?” He hopes that he’s not asking too much. But if the scarecrow wasn’t interested in helping him further, it could have just hopped off to do its own thing, right? By staying, it must be indicating that it likes Yuuri’s company?

The scarecrow confirms this theory by bounces up and down enthusiastically before turning around and bounding off. Faster indeed! Within only a few minutes it’s already out of sight.

The sky is getting darker and it only takes a moment for Yuuri to realize that he doesn’t have his lantern. Turning around in horror he realizes that it must have been left behind, and even though his eyes desperately rake the landscape, he can’t see it after all the way he’s come. There’s no choice. He can’t keep going up or he’ll run out of light. Which means he has to lose all the progress he’s made since the attack and pray that he finds his lantern before the sun sets. With a soft sob, Yuuri stumbles back down the mountain, panic welling up inside him.

He is completely worn out. Between the physical exertion, the attack, and the aftermath thereof, Yuuri feels like an old rag that has been wrung out and dropped on the floor. What he wouldn’t give to just lie down right now. But he knows that if he stops now, if he lies down, he will never get up again. He’s too tired. He would lie down, he would give up, he would fall asleep, or unconscious, and the cold would take him before he ever spoke to another soul. So he keeps going, because there is no other choice. He has to hope that he’ll find his lantern and that his new found friend will be able to find him and help him one last time. 

It’s only once that the darkness surrounds him completely that Yuuri stops.

He doesn’t dare sit down, but he’s afraid to move now. If he tries to keep walking, anything could happen. He could fall down a hole, trip over a rock or some scrub bush. He could break his leg, break his neck. Any injury now would mean certain death. That is, if the exposure to the cold doesn’t kill him first. What is he going to do now? Why did he think he could do this at all? 

His shoulders shake as Yuuri allows himself to cry, his hands bracing his weight against the walking stick to help keep himself upright. Better to let it out so he can move past it. The wind cuts right to the quick of him as he wipes the chilly tears from his cheeks and lifts his head. Going down serves no purpose now. He knows where he’s been, and there’s no shelter in that direction. He also can’t stay put, or he’ll freeze to death. The only option is to keep moving, and the only direction is up. Turning, Yuuri struggles up the mountain once again. The walking stick is his guide now, though the blessedly full moon helps him see his way a little. Yuuri uses the stick to prod the ground, dragging it back and forth to warn him of obstacles and pitfalls that need to be avoided.

It’s only after making very little progress over what feels like a great deal of time that Yuuri draws to a stop and closes his eyes. Something is different. He tilts his head to one side and sniffs the air. Does he smell smoke? Smoke means fire, which probably means a shack or house of some kind. At this point, even a campfire would be welcome!

He opens his eyes and starts moving again, trying to determine the source of the smell that is filling the air. And that’s when he hears it, faintly at first, but steadily gaining on him. There is the hissing of steam, the clanking of metal upon metal, and a strange but steady series of heavy thumps that grow louder and louder. It seems incongruous, out here in the middle of nowhere, but without a doubt, some sort of locomotive device is heading his way. But how can that be? There are no tracks up this high and no roads smooth enough for a jaunty jalopy to make its way along.

Yuuri brightens up and waves when the scarecrow appears from over a jut of the mountain, cheerfully bouncing along, but he gasps at what he’s leading behind him! Yuuri blinks and stares at the massive monstrosity in horror as it wheezes and sways, rocking back and forth as it comes to an abrupt stop after mounting the crest. The scarecrow gives a dramatic spin in place, his sleeves flapping and flaring out toward the castle as if to say, “Ta da!”

Stumbling forward, Yuuri hisses at the scarecrow. “Are you insane? You brought me the Moving Castle? Wizard Nikiforov’s Moving Castle?”

The scarecrow bounces up and down enthusiastically several times before slowing to a stop, as if realizing that Yuuri is anything but happy with its gift. It turns back and forth, looking between Yuuri and the castle before it hops a few steps, landing behind Yuuri and giving him a not so subtle nudge toward the castle.

“Oh no. No way! I would rather freeze to death than have my heart torn out and eaten.”

Whack!

“Ow!” Turning around, Yuuri glares up at the scarecrow who just smacked his butt with his central pole. “What’s gotten into you?” The scarecrow remains expressionless, but Yuuri has never felt so judged before.

The scarecrow hops a few more times before urging Yuuri again toward the castle. The wind kicks up a fuss, whistling around them and reminding Yuuri of just how precarious his situation is. He weighs his options. If he stays here, he will die. There is no question of that. If he goes into the castle, his chances of survival are a great deal better. Yes, there is a dangerous wizard living there, but Yuuri is old and ugly - there is little chance that the Wizard Nikiforov will have any interest in eating his shriveled heart. On the other hand, there’s no telling what he might do to a trespasser. But that is a risk Yuuri is just going to have to take.

Taking a deep breath now that he’s made his decision, Yuuri takes a step closer and for the first time takes a real look at the structure before him. The full moon has broken free of the clouds, illuminating the massive magical building before him, causing Yuuri to frown in reaction. “So this is the famous Moving Castle? What an ugly thing.  Looks more like a collection of castoff parts of other buildings. It certainly isn’t what I think of when I think of the word castle. There’s nothing elegant or noble about it. It looks like it could fall apart at any moment!”

The building shudders and growls, abruptly rising up from its crouched position as if it heard Yuuri and was offended by his comments. Without hesitation it huffs out a massive breath of steam in Yuuri’s direction before moving forward once again. 

The scarecrow spins, its sleeve whacking Yuuri in the back of the head.

“No, wait!” Yuuri calls out in alarm. His only chance of survival is literally walking away from him! He gives chase after the slowly moving pile of debris. Despite its lackadaisical speed, it still moves a much greater distance in a much shorter spread of time on its peculiar chicken-like legs, the length of them far greater than Yuuri’s short legs could possibly make up for, never mind the fact that he is tired, sore, and, well,  _ old _ . 

“Wait! Slow down!” 

The contraption pays Yuuri no heed. 

A burst of anger and frustration overcome him, tears springing into his eyes as he forces his elderly body to move faster. “You came here for me and now you’re just leaving? Which is it, do you want to help me or not?” The building lumbers on. “I’m sorry about what I said before. You’re not a hunk of junk, you’re amazing, you’re astonishing! After all, no one else in the whole wide world can boast of a castle that actually walks on its own!”

His breath is coming in short gasps now, words coming out in starts and rushes depending on when he can actually manage to push them past his lips. The castle, however, plods onward, oblivious to Yuuri’s waning strength. This is it. He’s going to die out here. The cold and the snow is simply too much, and what little strength he had left will be gone in a minute. He’s wasted it, running after a magical building that has no reason to stop, that certainly can’t understand a word that he’s saying. Why he’s been wasting his breath calling out to it he couldn’t say. Desperation is all he has left and who knows? If a scarecrow can come to life, perhaps a castle can not only move, but listen.

“Please. I’m so sorry. Please stop. I need you.” His hand grabs one of the railings of the dangling steps, fingers desperately clutching to the iron. The cold is so brutal that only his eyes tell him that he’s managed to grip the metal, his hand completely numb and frozen. The castle shudders, its legs stalling for a second, just enough to cause Yuuri’s forward motion to pitch him onto the first step. And in a flash the door before him opens just at the same time as the four step staircase curls upward, chucking him through the open portal, out of the dark and the cold and into light and heat.

For a moment he lays there, eyes closed, panting and shivering, nothing registering save for the closing of the door and the clang of the stairs locking into place behind it.

His eyes crack open and his hand shakes as he reaches out to gently rub his fingers into the smooth and worn wooden floorboards before him. 

“Thank you. I promise, I’ll be good to you. I’ll earn my keep.”

He takes some time to recover, the warmth of the room slowly seeping into his skin, the terrible pain suffusing his body fading into an aching tenderness throughout. Slowly, carefully, he rises up to his hands and knees and with a soft grunt of effort he manages to rise to his feet using the stone hearth before him to support his weight.

“Ugh. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but next time could you offer me a softer landing?”

Straightening up, he carefully cracks his back before gingerly checking himself over. Nothing is broken, thank goodness, but he’s likely covered in bruises and there will be hell to pay tomorrow morning. For now, though, he’s going to take a moment to orient himself. The room is lit only by the fireplace and a few lanterns, the space empty and quiet, save for the sound of the castle itself. If anyone is home, they must be deep sleepers not to have heard his loud entrance. If he’s very lucky, he’ll be able to sneak out before anyone has noticed his arrival. He just needs a place to rest for the night. Tomorrow he’ll figure out a new plan, one that doesn’t result in him trespassing on an infamous and dangerous wizard.

The fire in the hearth is burning low, casting barely enough light to see beyond its half circle. It only takes a minute of searching before he finds a collection of kindling and logs. Drawing out three pieces of wood, Yuuri makes his way back to the fire, carefully placing one log and waiting to make sure that it doesn’t smother the low flames, then placing the other two within easy distance, should it begin to dwindle again.

Hands on his hips he glances about, frowning. The room is a disaster. Even in the dim and flickering light he can see the endless stacks of books, dishes, and papers. Bottles and strange pieces of equipment are pushed together in hasty piles and cluttered cheek to jowl upon every flat surface available. Reaching out, Yuuri runs a finger across one shelf, pulling it away to find a thick layer of grey upon it. He repeats the gesture upon the hearth, this time his hand coming away black.

“What a dump.” Hastily he looks around and apologizes. “Not that it’s your fault of course! I’m just sorry that the wizard who lives here has treated you so poorly. A moving castle such as yourself deserves far more respect than this.”

In the wake of his rescue and subsequent curiosity, Yuuri feels the exhaustion and weariness pulling on his frame once more. He needs to rest. He peels off his outer layers, hanging the soaked cloak, coat, scarf, and hat over the banister for the lack of any place better to put them. He drags an easy chair, one of the only surfaces it seems that hasn’t been designated for a purpose other than sitting, over to the hearth. Sodden boots are struggled with, laces soaked and resistant to the fussing of his gnarled fingers. Finally, with great reluctance, they give way and he slides them off with a soft groan of relief, placing them closer to the fire in the hopes that they’ll dry sooner rather than later.

He manages to find a lap blanket, shaking off the dirt and dust and considering it dubiously before he shrugs. Trespassers can’t be picky. Settling himself back down in the chair, he wraps the blanket around himself and leans back, closing his eyes. He doesn’t even notice the soft clicking upon the stairs, but he startles awake when something cold and wet touches the back of his hand. 

Yuuri glances down to find a large dog sitting next to him, its head resting on his thigh and its nose pressed against him. Dark brown soulful eyes look up at Yuuri as the dog’s tail begins to wag.

“Oh, well, hello there, where did you come from?” Yuuri slides his fingers into the soft curly caramel brown fur of the dog’s head and is rewarded with a lick, the tail wagging even harder. 

“Hmmmm, actually, you should be asking me that I suppose, as I’m sure this is your house. Or castle. Or whatever.”

Yuuri’s hands reach for the dog’s neck, but there is no collar there, so instead of looking for a nametag he rubs the dog’s ears. More happy tail wagging, the dog’s whole body wiggling in delight.

“Huh. You must be the Wizard Nikiforov’s dog then? Unless… unless you are the Wizard Nikiforov? Or someone that the Wizard Nikiforov has turned into a dog?”

The dog pants and licks Yuuri’s hand, which causes him to laugh.

“Okay, probably not the Wizard Nikiforov, then, and hopefully not a fellow transformed trespasser, though honestly such a fate would be better than my current one. Sadly, I doubt your master will be as happy to see me here as you are. But then again, how bad can he be if he has a dog as nice as you?”

The dog’s tail thumps against the floor in agreement, causing Yuuri to smile. Tilting his head back once more, Yuuri lets his eyes close, his hand idly rubbing the dog's soft head as he lets the tension in his body slowly seep from his muscles.

The fire crackles softly, soothingly, and Yuuri can already feel himself starting to drift until-

“WHAT THE HELL?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, OLD GEEZER! HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?! PHICHIT! PHICHIT!! INTRUDER! INVADER! CREEPY OLD MAN IN THE HOUSE! MAKKACHIN! ATTACK! KILL!”

The dog jumps away, barking excitedly as it dances and prances around. In turn, Yuuri jerks out of his seat in surprise, flying forward, his hands just barely catching the edge of the hearth, bringing him face to face with a fiery and glaring countenance. Bright green eyes stare at him accusingly, flames fanning the air about his face, but all Yuuri can think to do is raise a finger to his lips. 

“Shhhhhh!”

“SHHHHH? DID YOU JUST SHUSH ME? WHO ARE  _ YOU _ TO SHUSH  _ ME _ ?! THIEF! BURGLAR! I WILL NOT SHUSH JUST BECAUSE SOME ANCIENT RELIC WHO BROKE INTO MY HOUSE IS TELLING ME TO SHUSH!  I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I’M A VERY POWERFUL FIRE DEMON! I WILL MESS YOU UP! YOU ARE GONNA GET BURNT!!”

They say that even the most timid of creatures will reach a point where they will fight rather than flee. Yuuri is tired and angry, scared and alone, and worst of all, cursed. But he’ll be damned as well if he gets kicked out before he’s managed to get in a few hours of sleep. 

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s see how you feel when I dump a bucket of cold water over you!”

The flames surge higher, the fire turning bright red, but the volume of the snarling voice drops to a low, threatening hiss. “You wouldn’t  _ dare _ .”

Brown eyes meet green, not backing down an inch. “Oh yeah? You  _ sure _ about that?”

Apparently the fire isn’t, and by the angry crackling and spitting of sparks that follow, Yuuri can tell that it doesn’t like being threatened. Not one bit.

“Look, I’m not here to steal anything or do anything. I just needed to get out of the cold. That’s all. Let me stay the night and I’ll leave tomorrow.”

The fire grumbles, green eyes narrowing in annoyance, though it seems that it’s studying Yuuri now more closely, as if it could determine the truth of what he says. “You’re lucky then that Phichit is a deep sleeper. Not that he would have the common sense to kick you out. Boy doesn’t have the common sense of a golden retriever!” Glancing over at the poodle, who has settled down on what appears to be her bed, panting happily, the demon grumbles, “What are you grinning at? Some guard dog you are. Useless.”

Blinking, Yuuri slowly sits back in the chair and pulls up the blanket, still astonished by his boldness. “Phichit? Is he the Wizard Nikiforov? This is his Moving Castle, isn’t it?”

Green eyes flick back to him and narrow. “Moron.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.  _ Mor- _ on. The thing I can’t figure out is how someone as pathetic and plain as you could have pissed off someone to get saddled with a curse like that. Oh no, wait, that’s it isn’t it? You pissed them off with your stupidity!”

“How do you know I ha- hmmph!” Yuuri’s hand jerks toward his mouth as the words are stifled before they can pass over his tongue. It’s as if invisible fingers were pushing his lips, cheeks, and tongue together, preventing anything more than inarticulate noises to escape.

“Ahhh, let me guess, you can’t even talk about the curse, can you? Tch. How stupid are you? What did you do? Kick some wizard in the balls? Spit in their favorite potion?”

Glaring at the fire, Yuuri mumbles abashedly, “No comment.” 

For a long while the fire demon crackles and stares at Yuuri while Yuuri does his best to stare back. But exhaustion makes his eyelids droop more and more until he finally starts to doze off. Which, of course, is when the demon growls in a grumpy voice, “I have a proposal for you.”

Yuuri’s eyes blink open and he stares owlishly at the flame before repeating, “A proposal?”

“Yeah. Look. You’ve been cursed, and the only way you can get uncursed is to have it either rescinded or find someone to break it. As I said before,” he notes, his fiery chest  puffing up with pride, “I’m a very powerful fire demon! So, let’s make a pact. You get me out of this deal I have with Nikiforov and in return, I’ll break the curse that’s on you.”

“Hmmmmm.”

The fire scowls at him and flares in annoyance. “What? It’s a good deal! You should take it!”

“I don’t know,” muses Yuuri dubiously. “Can’t say my experience with magic has been the most positive one so far. How can I trust you?”

“Come on! You should feel bad for me! He makes me work for him all day and night! I have to keep the castle warm, heat the water, move us all over the place. He treats me like a slave! I’m trapped in this hideous castle, I can’t leave, I can’t do anything for myself! It’s the worst!!”

Yuuri’s lips quirk in amusement at the angry protest, the demon before him acting more like a put-upon child complaining about how many chores he has to do than an ‘all powerful’ fire demon. After all he’s been through, he really doesn’t have it in him to feel too badly for the rude demon. “Wow, you’ve had it rough.” His tone is laced with wry humor.

“Tch! Fine, be cursed then! Be old and wrinkled and gross, see if I care! Mu’dak!” If a fire could turn around and ignore someone, then the fire before Yuuri is doing so.

With a soft sigh, Yuuri rubs his eyes and struggles to stay awake. “What makes you think I can fix your problem? I’m not a witch. I don’t have any powers. I’m nobody. What can I possibly do to help you?”

The fire shifts from side to side, before turning around, its eyes staring steadily at Yuuri. “Let’s just say I have a hunch and leave it at that.”

Waving a hand as he yawns, Yuuri snuggles back into his chair. “Fine, fine, you figure out how I can help you and I’ll do it.” His eyes slowly close once more and his mind wanders. He can hear the sharp, irritated voice snapping at him, but the words just jumble together into incoherent noises and phrases, all of which drift down the dark river running through Yuuri’s mind until there is nothing but dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter! If so, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment? They keep me writing and make me very happy! :D No kudos or comments makes for a sad mamishka! D:
> 
> Many thanks to the fabulous TiggyMalvern for being my beta reader! You are the best and continue to save my bacon before a certain fire demon can eat it. ;-)
> 
> "mu'dak" - Russian for "asshole" >;-)
> 
> If you're looking more YOI content, check out yoi-central on tumblr, where I post art, stories, recs, meta, and everything else YOI that catches my eye!


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